


black butterflies and deja vu

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Third Person, Pining, Storytelling, Strangers to Lovers, WHO DO YOU TAKE ME FOR, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: Once upon a time...there was a little boy, his name was- well, that’s not important. There was a little boy, and he didn’t have lots of friends.But don’t worry, this isn’t a sad story, even though it sounds like it, I promise.





	1. you flash like a setting sun (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> fic and chapter titles from 'black butterflies and deja vu' by the maine ([x](https://open.spotify.com/track/6QZ8h3RqIgTRTo3hfaqryx?si=ZZLF4O2cStOLti035jRPfg))

The first time Phil meets Lift Boy is - as the creative nickname might suggest - in a lift.

Specifically, the lift in Phil’s apartment building, on his first day of his fourth year of primary school. He’d stepped on with a gaggle of grown-ups, already feeling far too crowded and uncomfortable and a bit overwhelmed from all the _newness_ of his day: a new school, a new group of kids to try to impress, a new teacher who gave him funny looks whenever he had a story to tell, a new walk home and a completely new group of people he’s now forced to be around as he prepares for the final leg of his journey. He tells himself it’s only a lift ride, he can squash himself in the back corner until he reaches the top floor. Then it’s just a quick trip down the hall to the left, to apartment 12B, and he can lock himself away in the safety of his room and play video games until dinner. He can surely manage that.

Only, for the first time since his family moved in, there’s _another kid_ here. Who also seems to have the same idea as Phil, pressed back into the corner of the lift and avoiding the uncaring eyes of the other lift-goers.

The doors slide shut behind Phil, and he scoots his way around legs and bags to join the other boy in the back.

He doesn’t even so much as glance up at Phil, but Phil supposes that’s for the best - at least he’s not immediately being made fun of for his reddish hair or his Pokemon backpack. It’s really hard to explain why Bulbasaur is so cool, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to do it for the five-bazillionth time that day.

The lift rumbles under him, a whirring sensation that makes him shift nervously on his toes - it’s not that lifts are really scary, because they aren’t and he’s definitely _not_ scared, but what if it broke? What if it’s _this exact lift_ on _this exact day_ at _this exact time_ and it breaks and falls a hundred feet and squashes him and the rest of the people like bugs?

He’s not at all scared for _himself_ , but he’s pretty sure the boy next to him would really not want to die.

Phil takes a peek, just to see if the boy is as not-scared as he is. The boy doesn’t seem at all bothered, staring down at his hands and generally not doing much of anything, which makes Phil nod a silent confirmation: the boy in the lift probably isn’t scared, just like Phil. But Phil wonders if he should maybe reassure him anyway.

“The lift won’t break, it’s being held up by really really strong cables and stuff,” Phil mumbles, thinking of the words his mum always tells him when he gets not-scared on a lift. The boy’s head whips up and around, and Phil watches dark brown eyes narrow at him from under light brown hair.

“I like the lift,” the boy says, which makes Phil’s eyes do the complete opposite of the boy’s and widen. _Like_ the lift? That seems silly, a lift is just the best alternative to climbing twelve flights of stairs. Nobody _likes_ the lift. Even the adults are always frowning, staring at the doors and rushing off the moment they open.

“You can’t _like_ the lift,” Phil says matter-of-factly, frowning at the boy. Phil even goes as far as to cross his arms - he is absolutely _certain_ of this.

“I can too,” the boy says, and his lips do the opposite of Phil’s, twisting into a grin. Phil’s not sure how to feel about this opposite-boy, but he’s curious at least. Maybe the boy just doesn’t understand lifts.

“ _Nobody_ likes lifts,” Phil says, then lets his eyes drift to the adults around them - they’re getting up to the third floor now, and he can feel the thing grinding to a halt. The doors slide open, and a woman pushes out into the hall the moment they’re wide enough for her to fit through. “See?” Phil points, but he tries to keep his voice low so none of the other grown-ups will notice. His mum says people don’t like to be pointed at.

“Oh, that’s just Mrs. Melbourne, she keeps pixies in her fridge - they like the cold, you know - but they get cranky if she doesn’t get home and feed them right at suppertime,” the boy says with a shrug. This makes Phil’s eyes widen so much that he’s afraid his eyeballs might fall out, something his brother Martyn told him would happen if he forgot to blink for too long.

He wants to say that pixies aren’t real, because he’s only heard of them in fairytales, but this boy seems pretty sure the woman has pixies. Maybe he’s seen them himself? And that’d make Phil look rather silly if he said they weren’t real, and then the boy would laugh at him, so Phil keeps his mouth shut.

Until the eighth floor, when two men in stiff business suits get off with perfectly synchronized steps, frowns tugging at their faces. 

“ _They_ don’t like lifts,” Phil points out - they’re _clearly_ not happy, but the moment he says it, the boy lets out a little giggle that makes Phil turn. Sure enough, the boy’s smiling at him, but it’s the kind of smile that Phil recognizes as ‘ _you aren’t very smart, are you?_ ’ which makes Phil frown and look at his shoes.

“They’re robots, of course, but you haven’t been here long enough to know that, right?” The boy’s voice sounds softer, nicer than the boys at school who’d be making fun of him for being stupid by now. So Phil looks up, because maybe this lift boy isn’t as mean as Phil was afraid he’d be.

“No, my family just moved in. How do you know they’re robots?” Phil looks to the side just as the doors slide shut, but the robot-men are already out of sight, and Phil hadn’t gotten a great look.

“I know lots of things,” the boy shrugs, “adults don’t really notice kids if they’re not being loud and annoying.” Now the boy’s brown eyes shift to stare straight ahead at the few remaining lit-up buttons on the lift panel. Phil isn’t sure what to say to this, because this is something he already knows, so he just nods.

“Which floor’s yours?” Phil asks after a few seconds of silence; they’ve passed most of them by now and only the buttons for ten and twelve are lit up. He thinks he’d remember another boy on his floor so close to his age, but it’s not like he’s been out much since his family moved in - video games aren’t mean to him, except when he loses. But even then, it’s more fun than trying to convince his brother to take him down the street to the sweets shop, or running through the halls of the building and hoping he doesn’t get yelled at for being too loud.

“Not this one,” the boy answers, and Phil frowns as another woman slips out the doors of the lift as soon as they open. 

“The top floor? That’s where I live!” He tries not to let his voice show how excited he is that _maybe_ he can have a friend to play with, and _maybe_ he won’t have to tag around with his brother and all his brother’s mean friends - they’re just like the kids at school who think making fun of Phil is good for a laugh. “Maybe we could-”

“I don’t live there either,” the boy cuts in, smiling when Phil’s face scrunches up in confusion. 

“Don’t tell me there’s a secret floor over mine,” Phil says, already imagining how that would work when there isn’t even a button for a thirteenth floor - unless it’s one of those hidden buttons, or secret button codes Martyn’s told him about, like a video game cheat code for a lift. Phil still hasn’t managed to remember how those work, but Martyn insists they can get all the way to their floor without having to stop for other people.

“Don’t be silly,” the boy laughs, just as they’re arriving to the twelfth floor. “This is your stop,” he says. Phil’s half a second away from asking _where_ the boy lives, then, since they’re at the top, but then he’s glancing between the open doors and the boy. Suddenly, he’s thinking about what might happen if he got stuck while the doors were closing, so he decides maybe he’ll ask another time, if he sees the boy again.

Just as the doors start to close, Phil rushes off, but he turns back to the boy in the lift once he’s made it safely to the carpet in the hallway.

“I’m Phil!” He sort of shouts, because that’s what he’s supposed to do when he makes a friend, right? Tell them his name? But the boy doesn’t answer, just smiles a big, wide smile as the doors glide shut.

\----------

As it turns out, Phil sees Lift Boy again the next morning on his way to school. In fact, he’s _already_ on the lift when Phil steps on, and he greets Phil with the same wide grin he’d left him with the day before. Conveniently, a man gets on the lift behind Phil, so he has a good enough reason to move to the back corner with the boy again.

“Hi,” Phil says, and the boy doesn’t respond, but Phil thinks he’s heard because the boy dips his head to stare at his shoes - they’ve got loads of zips all over them, and Phil thinks they’re the kind of shoes he finds really cool but would never be able to wear himself because someone at school would say he doesn’t suit them, or he’s not cool enough for them. He thinks the boy looks pretty cool, though.

They ride down in silence, stopping at every single floor on the way - at least, it feels like it, but Phil can’t say for sure; he keeps looking over at the boy, who’s still smiling down at his shoes. There’s a dimple in his cheek that Phil wants to poke, but his mum said it’s not nice to touch people without asking. Phil’s not sure if he should ask, though.

“Why d’you think grown-ups always look so grumpy?” Phil says instead. The boy definitely knows loads of things, maybe he’ll have an answer for all the frowns stuck on the adults’ faces in the lift around them. He keeps his voice low, though, afraid to be caught talking about them.

“Oh, that’s easy,” the boy says, looking up just as a woman walks in. She’s frowning pretty hard, Phil thinks, and the boy leans over, bumping his shoulder into Phil’s. “That’s Matilda, but she gets upset if you don’t call her _Mrs._ Matilda.” The boy’s voice has gone super quiet, basically whispering. Phil nods, expecting that to be it, but the boy doesn’t stop there. “See, she’s got a dog who only eats bees for dinner.” At this, Phil has to put a hand over his mouth - he doesn’t think _Mrs_. Matilda would be very happy if she found out he was laughing at her. “So he buzzes the _whole night_ and she can never get any sleep,” the boy continues, and Phil nods more, doing his best to show he’s listening.

“And him?” Phil asks when a man steps on at the second to last floor. The boy laughs a little in Phil’s ear.

“He’s a spy, actually, and this is his fifth trip to Manchester.” Phil nods like this is common knowledge, and the boy somehow makes his whisper even quieter. “He’s been listening through the ceiling for an undercover assassin for _months_ , but even with his fancy equipment direct from MI6, all he can hear are Mrs. Matilda’s dog’s bees!” At this, both Phil and the boy break into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

Fortunately, this is just as the doors are opening to the ground floor, and all the adults pile out and into the lobby. Phil follows, but he’s left frowning when he steps outside and the boy isn’t beside him. He turns to find a very similar view from yesterday, the boy grinning as the doors slide shut.

\--------

Phil can’t quite crack the code of where Lift Boy lives, although he’s getting more and more attached to the idea that there’s a secret thirteenth floor and he’s just not figured out how to get there yet. 

In the meantime, he sees the boy _every day_ on the lift, both in the mornings when he leaves for school and in the afternoons when he comes back. After the third such afternoon, when the doors open on Phil’s floor and he takes a step to get off, a hand grabs his.

“Wait!” It’s the boy, of course, as all the grown-ups have left already - they’re always in a rush to get out. In spite of his fears of the doors closing on him, Phil stops, because the boy is _really_ smart, so he would know if it’s okay to wait a bit longer. “You should stay,” the boy says, and his mouth squishes into a line the same way Phil’s mum’s does when she’s not really sure what to say. 

Phil glances at the doors, which haven’t closed yet, and then back at the boy. He can’t help but wonder if maybe the boy wants to show him the secret to getting to the thirteenth floor, or wherever he lives, but what if his mum gets upset that he’s not home on time?

“Just for a little?” He asks, because surely his mum wouldn’t be too mad if he was just a _little_ late - she has so much to do anyway, making dinner and stuff, that it wouldn’t be a big deal, right?

“Just a little,” the boy promises, so Phil walks back to join him again in the corner. The whirring of the lift going back down startles him - he’d been thinking, or hoping, that they’d go _up_ \- but maybe there’s a secret _basement_ he doesn’t know about, and _that’s_ where the boy lives. 

The boy doesn’t let go of Phil’s hand, and Phil doesn’t let go of his, so they stand there in silence as the lift rumbles around them. Phil’s not so bothered by the lift now as he was before - not that he was ever _scared_ or anything - but he’s not exactly a fan of staying on it for a long time. And he’s sort of glad he has someone to hold onto, especially the boy who seems to actually _like_ the lift. And he knows things, so he’d know if it wasn’t safe to be on the lift for a little longer.

Phil frowns when the lift shudders to a stop at the ground floor, when another bunch of adults squish into the space around them - even _more_ of them than before, and Phil pushes himself back into the corner and closer to Lift Boy. 

“See that man?” He leans closer to Phil, whispering and pointing in exactly the way Phil’s mum would tell Phil not to; Phil nods, staring at a tall grown-up with a funny hat and big glasses, and he’s glad his glasses don’t look like that. “ _He’s_ the assassin the spy is looking for.” The boy’s smiling when Phil turns, but all Phil can wonder is how the boy isn’t scared, because that’s an _assassin!_

“Isn’t he dangerous, though?” Phil asks, already doing his best to shuffle a little further away and into the safety of their corner.

“Of course not, he’s only here for the bees.” The boy giggles at Phil’s frown. “The ones Mrs. Matilda’s dog keeps eating,” he clarifies, as if it’s so obvious. Phil’s face just scrunches up even more. “See, she keeps bees for her dog,” the boy says, a fact that Phil definitely understands, so he nods. “Right, and the assassin, he’s not just an assassin, he’s also a rare bee collector,” the boy’s eyebrows lift up and his mouth opens a bit, like he’s waiting for Phil to catch on.

“Oh!” And Phil does, following the boy’s train of thought. “So the assassin’s really just trying to get some of the bees?” The boy’s face lights up and he nods excitedly. “But the spy doesn’t know?” Phil guesses, which makes the boy smile even bigger. And that makes _Phil_ smile really big, because now he knows things as well. 

“See, the spy just thinks the assassin is here to be an assassin,” the boy goes on, and Phil falls into silence to listen. “And he misses him _every day_ because he comes home five minutes earlier than the assassin.” The boy giggles at that, and Phil thinks he ought to giggle as well, mostly because he likes watching the boy laugh like that and he likes being in on the joke. He _thinks_ he gets why it’s funny - the spy missing the assassin he’s looking for _every single day_ \- but he wants the boy to like him, so he figures he should make it look like he _definitely_ gets it.

Phil stays hidden in the corner with the boy for three more lift rides - and at least a thousand more stories about all the grown-ups - before he decides he should probably get home or his mum will be upset. Just like the first time, the boy stays on even after the top floor, and Phil wonders where it is that he lives. He hopes maybe the boy will show him, some day.

\----------

Except he doesn’t, and it’s been nearly a month of Phil riding the lift with the boy, of story after story about the various adults, of listening to the boy talk endlessly - it’s strange, as Phil’s usually the one to talk and talk and talk, but he likes listening to the boy and his stories.

And then one day - a Thursday, which is one of Phil’s favorite days for no particular reason - Lift Boy doesn’t smile when Phil gets on.

“Hi!” Phil says anyway, trying to be extra excited - sometimes, people around him are sad, and he thinks that maybe if he’s _really_ happy, he can give them some of his happiness. Maybe it can float through the air like the pixie dust Lift Boy told him about.

The boy just looks at him and Phil _thinks_ he’s starting to smile - well, he _is_ smiling, but it’s sort of a not-happy smile, and it reminds him of when Phil’s mum told him and Martyn that they would be moving all the way to Manchester. Phil’s stomach feels yucky, almost like the lift has started falling really fast.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asks, trying to make his voice sound like his mum’s when he’s sick and she’s trying to make him feel better. He doesn’t want to see the boy look not-happy like this, but he also doesn’t really know how to help. He hopes the boy will tell him - he knows _everything_.

Instead of words, though, the boy just sticks out his hand. Phil takes it without question, and they ride the entire rest of the way in silence. Normally, the boy would tell him stories, keep him updated on all the news from the grown-ups and their lives, but he doesn’t talk at all today. Phil thinks about his mum telling him that sometimes, people need a little bit of quiet in their day, so he keeps his lips zipped shut.

But the noises of the lift sound really loud around him, so buzzy and whirry that he wonders if some of Mrs. Matilda’s bees got in. He even checks the heads of the people in the lift, looking for the funny hat of the assassin-beekeeper, but he can’t find him, so he supposes the man didn’t capture some bees and he’s probably just hearing the lift noises now that the boy isn’t talking in his ear the whole way down.

When they reach the ground floor, Phil waits until all the grown-ups have left, then he turns to the boy.

“I’m leaving.” The boy speaks before Phil can ask what’s wrong, if he can do anything to help, and Phil just stands there with his mouth wide open, trying to understand what exactly the boy means.

“You’re leaving?” Is all Phil comes up with, but the boy squeezes his hand super tight, almost so much that it hurts. But it doesn’t, not really, and he doesn’t want the boy to let go.

“My family’s moving to _London_.” The boy frowns at the word - Phil’s heard of London, of course, it’s somewhere else in England, but more importantly it _isn’t here_. Phil frowns as well.

“You’re leaving.” Phil says it again, but it isn’t a question this time. A part of Phil wants to get really really angry, scream and hit things like his brother sometimes does when he doesn’t get his way. But the other part of Phil wants to cry because he’s only _just_ made a friend, and now that friend is leaving? He can feel tears in his eyes, but the boy isn’t crying, so it would definitely not be cool if he cried. He sniffles a little, then drops the boy’s hand and spins around, running out into the lobby and toward the front doors. He makes it to a bush out by the pavement before the first tear falls, and then they can’t be stopped, not for a long time.

Phil doesn’t see Lift Boy when he gets home, or the next morning, or the next week or month or year or ever again inside that particular lift and, for a while, it hurts, his heart hurts. And then it stops, and Lift Boy fades into the back of his mind, a blip of a memory from his childhood that eventually stops taking up space.


	2. i lose my voice when i look at you

The second time Phil meets Lift Boy is not in a lift at all, but in a coffee shop nearly twenty years later. And, for a time, he’s not even aware that Lift Boy is, in fact, Lift Boy.

It’s late in the day, not that the time has really ever stopped Phil from getting coffee, but he always feels a bit self-conscious showing up when most people are out on their way to dinner or headed home from work. Technically, Phil’s just gotten off work as well - his shift at the daycare ends at half five - and he’s on his way home, or he will be once he gets his caffeine fix.

And then it’s a brief break for dinner before a few hours of his podcast-slash-radio-show... _thing_ , telling children’s bedtime stories for a bit before switching over into a late-night music stream and then getting into a bit more... _adult_ storytelling.

Which, now that Phil’s had the thought, makes it sound like he reads porn aloud for his audience, which isn’t _at all_ what he does - it’s just a more sophisticated, more intense storyline that caters to the parents of the children he’s just entertained with his wacky imaginative little tales. Speaking of which, he’s only written about three more episodes of that story, and he really ought to get to writing more before-

“ _Excuse_ me, this is fucking- yeah, I’m talking to you, no-” Phil’s head whips up to watch the scene unfold in front of him: some man, waving a cup in the air at a poor wide-eyed barista. Phil’s not quite sure what the guy’s demanding, but he’s doing it with big angry gestures and a too-loud tone, and if Phil had any bravery at all, he might walk up and tell the guy to calm down and be a little more polite. Phil, however, does not have any of that bravery, so he just stands there and presses his lips into a line, shifting awkwardly on his feet and debating whether or not to just leave and find another shop to get his coffee from.

“That’s Greg.” The low voice behind him - nearly right in his ear - makes him jump. He turns to find himself face-to-face with a guy about his height, notable only because Phil considers himself rather tall, with brown eyes and brown curls atop his head to match. He’s also got a smirk curling his lips, which Phil stares at rather intensely for probably a bit longer than he really should.

“He’s got a thing about the temperature of his coffee, if it’s not _just right_ \- literally, it’s a Goldilocks thing - he’ll throw a fit like that. Claims it’s something to do with his internal organs, but he’s actually just a-” The guy cuts himself off mid-sentence, clamping his mouth shut and ducking his head, and Phil finally remembers to blink.

“He’s, what, an ass?” Phil supplies, peeking back over his shoulder at the angry customer - Greg, apparently - who seems to have calmed down enough that he’s now only tapping his foot and making rude impatient faces at the barista scrambling around behind the counter to fix him a new drink.

“I was-” The guy, the one who knows this Greg character, sputters out a laugh. “Sure, yeah, he is _definitely_ that.” Phil turns back to find the guy - of which there are _too many_ , so he deems this guy the Tall Guy for now - smirking again, though Phil could swear his cheeks have gone a shade darker red than they were before. Or maybe it’s just the lighting, or maybe Phil’s projecting because Tall Guy is staring at Phil now, brown eyes drifting slowly over Phil’s face, and he’s pretty sure he can feel warmth crawling up his cheeks at the attention. Most guys - hell, most _people_ \- don’t usually look at Phil like that.

“I’m Phil!” Phil blurts out in the least smooth way he possibly could’ve done, earning him a lift of an eyebrow and a small smile from Tall Guy. Phil decides he quite likes that small smile, and then gives a quick shake of his head to clear it - no sense getting attached to random strangers in coffee shops, not when they’ll probably never meet again and, really, it’d be silly to get his hopes up that this guy might have any interest. Phil isn’t exactly an interesting person.

Tall Guy’s grin widens, then, and Phil can’t decide if he likes that better or the little one, and then he realizes he’s thinking quite a bit too much about this guy and he really ought to stop before he gets carried away.

“Nice to meet you, Phil,” Tall Guy says, “can I buy you a drink?” Phil wonders if summer’s come early, or maybe hung around a little late, because it’s October but he suddenly feels like it’s the middle of July in the coffee shop for how warm his face gets. For how warm _everything_ feels all of a sudden, because is Tall Guy _flirting with him_?

Surely not, he decides, or he’d have offered his name.

Nonetheless, Phil finds himself nodding at the guy, because even if they aren’t at all interested, it’d be silly to turn down a free coffee from an attractive person, wouldn’t it?

It seems the Greg guy has left the counter fully satisfied, and Phil and Tall Guy are up next. Tall Guy, apparently the gentlemanly sort, gestures for Phil to order first, so he gets the sweetest thing on the menu - it’s some pumpkin spice something or other, not the standard latte, but tis the season and all. Tall Guy places his order next, and Phil keeps about as close as he can manage without looking weird. Tall Guy has to give the barista his name, after all.

“You can put it under Greg,” Tall Guy says, and Phil’s face scrunches in confusion - hadn’t he _just_ said the rude man’s name was Greg? Perhaps that’s why he knows about the guy, because they share a name? It’s not til the other Greg - or, rather, Phil’s Greg? Surely he can’t call him that, not even in his head. Tall Greg, then, he decides after a moment of deliberation - it’s not til Tall Greg touches his arm, a light gesture that brings him back to reality, that he realizes he and the barista are just staring at him.

“Sorry, what?” Phil’s cheeks heat again, or maybe they’re just fully on fire at this point, it’s hard to tell.

“I said is here alright? Unless you’ve got to rush off somewhere?” Tall Greg watches with wide brown eyes, ones that look comforting in a way Phil can’t quite place or describe. His hand, Phil notices, hasn’t left Phil’s arm. He’s not sure he wants it to. “Need to get home to a girlfriend?” Phil’s brows arch at the implication, and the underlying idea that _clearly_ this guy hadn’t intended anything by offering to buy him a drink. Some camaraderie perhaps, but there’d definitely been no intent at anything more. “A boyfriend?” Tall Greg asks this a bit quieter.

“No! No, nothing like that.” Phil rushes the words out, and maybe he does it too fast, because Greg’s lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow just a bit. “No, I don’t have anyone uh, waiting for me,” Phil tries to clarify, hoping he hadn’t just made it sound like he has a problem with having a boyfriend - quite the opposite, in fact: he has a problem with _not_ having a boyfriend. “I’d like to stay,” he adds, bold perhaps to a fault as he tries to lock eyes with Greg for long enough to make it clear he’s interested.

Greg blinks first, then turns back to the barista. His lips stay pressed into a line until he speaks, but Phil notices the way they’ve curled up just slightly, the way a hint of a dimple carves itself into the guy’s cheek.

“For here,” he says, and Phil lets himself smile while Greg pays. Then he’s following him back to a corner booth, one situated right beside a tall window that looks out onto a small park across the street; it’s a location Phil knows quite well from the times he’s take the daycare children there on the few bright and sunny days they get here in London.

Greg offers to wait for their drinks, leaving Phil to stare out the window at the empty playscape - the weather next week should be nice, and he makes a mental note to suggest to the director that they plan for a trip over here. The kids will absolutely love it, as it’s been nearly a month since the last time they made it out.

Not for the first time, Phil wonders how he got here - not to London, he knows exactly what had dragged him out here three years ago, but more to the point in his life where he’s working with _children_. It’s not something he ever really imagined until a year or two ago, not in clear detail anyway, although now that he’s thinking on it - now that he’s _doing_ it - he can’t believe he’d ever thought his life _wouldn’t_ involve working with kids. For once, his ‘unique’ mind and creativity are appreciated and even _revered_. Not to mention his twice-a-week podcast has enough listeners to warrant some decent ad revenue, so he must be an adequate storyteller as well.

“For you, some pumpkin spice nonsense.” Phil’s jolted from his thoughts by Greg returning, setting a steaming mug of orange-looking spiced-smelling sugary goodness in front of him. Greg had ordered a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, though Phil really can’t smell it through the scent of pumpkin spice invading his nostrils.

“Thanks.” He smiles, hoping to convey his genuine appreciation. “It’s Greg, right?” He asks just as Greg lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip. Greg then proceeds to nearly spit it out all over Phil, if the way he’s just suddenly started sputtering is anything to go by, and Phil frowns - the mug ends up back on the table with a clunk and Greg’s hand covers his mouth, though it doesn’t stop the sound of muffled coughs from making it to Phil’s ears.

“Are you alright?” Phil had been about to lift his own mug, but now he’s concerned for Greg - and a little confused, had he said something funny? Because the coughing has started to sound quite a bit like laughter, and Phil knows that sound well enough to be on guard, waiting to be called out as the butt of some joke. Funny enough, bullying doesn’t always end after high school.

“I’m- yeah, I’m-” Greg lowers his hand, clearing his throat, but he’s most definitely got a grin on his lips. “I’m _fine_ ,” he says after a moment, hands curling around his mug, “but my name is _not_ Greg.” He giggles at this, lifting his drink up to his lips for a much calmer sip - calmer because Phil doesn’t say anything, not quite sure how to process this information - he’s _not_ Greg?

“But then- but I _heard_ you, you told the barista your name was Greg!” Phil frowns, brows scrunched as he replays the moment in his head - he’d been absolutely _certain_ that’s what the guy had said, but maybe it was a similar-sounding name? Like Craig? Or...Phil draws a blank on any other common names that could be mistaken for Greg.

“Don’t hurt yourself there, mate,” the guy - _not_ Greg - says with a chuckle, and now Phil’s half a second away from standing and walking out. A free coffee isn’t worth being made fun of. But the guy looks...well, he’s definitely finding the whole thing humorous, but he sets his drink down and extends a hand to Phil. Phil reaches out and takes it purely on instinct, and he doesn’t pull himself back because the guy’s hand is pretty soft and warm and he sort of likes it. And maybe he needs to get a date or something sometime soon, if he’s missing contact with another person his age _this_ much.

“Dan,” the guy says, but Phil’s been fooled before.

“Is it really?” He asks, trying to play it off as a joke, but he’s also a little serious. Someone who’s intent on playing games before they’ve even properly met isn’t someone he thinks he’d want to get into any kind of serious relationship with.

And he’s ten minutes into meeting the guy and worrying about serious relationships. He really needs to get a grip.

“Really, I promise. Well, that’s a lie,” not-Greg-not-Dan tilts his head, twisting his lips, and Phil waits for the other shoe to drop. “ _Technically_ it’s Daniel, but only my family calls me that.” Phil makes a valiant attempt to stop the little smile fighting its way to his cheeks, but he ultimately fails - apparently, it doesn’t go unnoticed, as Dan’s lips quickly follow suit. Phil thinks he’s got quite a lovely smile, regardless of what his name is.

“Well, mine’s technically Philip, but nobody calls me that at all,” Phil says, because they’re still shaking hands - or, really, just holding hands over the table, now - and he doesn’t want them to have to stop, and he thinks that maybe if he keeps talking-

“Well, _Technically Philip_ , you can feel free to call me Dan or Daniel or whatever you’d like,” Dan offers with a smirk - Phil thinks perhaps he’ll stick with Dan, since that’d been his first honest introduction. But then he lets go of Phil and Phil’s forced to pull his hand back and pretend he isn’t disappointed that they’re no longer touching. He has a strange urge to stick his leg out under the table and just press it against Dan’s, but that would be weird and he can’t do that to someone he’s only just met.

“So, haven’t got anyone waiting for you, have you?” Dan says after they’ve both had a few more sips of their drinks. Phil swallows thickly, suddenly aware of how lame that sounds. Although he supposes it can’t be _that_ lame, as it’d be far worse if he _did_ have someone to get home to - then he wouldn’t have a reason to be sat here with Dan.

“I don’t, no. Do you?” Phil asks, emboldened by sugar and the fact that Dan had been the one to offer to buy him coffee. It doesn’t stop a thrum of nerves from aching in his chest, trying to convince him he’d misinterpreted the whole thing and this isn’t at all what Dan had been implying by buying him a drink.

“It’d be pretty shit of me to ask out a cute guy if I did, wouldn’t it?” Dan retorts, lifting his own drink with a smirk - though Phil can see the pink in his cheeks pretty clearly now that the sun’s dipped below the buildings outside and the only real light comes from the artificially soft glow inside the shop.

It takes Phil a good few seconds to properly get hung up on the word ‘cute’, which he jumps to without really processing the ‘ask out’ bit first. By the time he makes it back round to that, it’s easily been a full minute, and Dan sets his mug down on the table with a clink that snaps Phil out of his own head.

“Sorry if that was too forward, I should’ve like...properly asked,” Dan says, frowning down at his mug. “And you can say no, I’m not- you’re not like...obligated just cause I bought you a coffee, I’m not- I’m not like that,” Dan says, words spilling off his tongue, and all Phil can think is how cute he looks when he’s flustered - or, really, Phil might’ve chosen the word _adorable_ , but ‘cute’ had been stuck in his head from Dan saying it before.

“No, I- I mean, was that you asking me out?” Phil asks, a little turned around by the not-quite-directness of the way Dan’s speaking. “Because, y’know, I’d say yes, if it were.” Phil dips his head, trying and failing miserably to focus his gaze on his mostly-empty mug; he keeps getting drawn in by Dan’s shifting expression, hoping to capture something there he recognizes.

At first, he’s sure it’s confusion, which would make sense if Phil’s gone and totally misinterpreted this whole thing - and he wouldn’t put it past himself to have done so. But then it changes, and Dan’s lip curls up in a smile that doesn’t _look_ like he’s about to make fun of Phil for being so absurd as to think he’d ask him out, but one can never be too careful.

“Yes, Technically Philip, that was my horrible attempt at asking you on a date.” Dan’s grin widens as he talks, and Phil can’t help but mirror it. “And this is my even worse attempt at asking for your number?” He ends it like a question, which only makes Phil huff out a breath of laughter before pulling out his phone.


	3. you crash like a rolling wave

The third time Phil meets Lift Boy is, as it turns out, just outside a lift - not Phil’s lift, nor outside the lift of his childhood home or outside any lift belonging to any person, but outside the lift of a very nice restaurant that Phil feels a bit underdressed for.

“There you are.” Dan’s voice sounds loud in the ambient silence of the lobby, a big empty space draped with rich colors that contrast sharply with the light blue of Phil’s button-down. At least he’d gone for that over the slightly less fancy shirt with pugs printed all over it - this place seems _far_ too upscale for that.

Dan, however, is a vision in black: a dark jumper nearly swallows him whole, the sleeves covering his hands partway and the hem dropping below his hips, and black jeans cling to his legs in a way that Phil might stare at if not for them - and the body they’re attached to - getting very close and _wow_ Phil really ought to pay attention.

Dan stops just short of Phil, and Phil’s suddenly _very_ aware of the space between them - is he meant to go in for a hug, do they shake hands? He’s not really sure, it’s been ages since he’s been on a date and nerves poke and prod at his skin and he’s really not-

“Shall we?” Dan asks, interrupting Phil’s quickly spiraling thoughts with a soft, close voice and a hand in his - it’s the second thing that stops his mind from whirring like a nest of hornets, Dan short-circuiting everything with a simple touch. Then Phil’s being tugged toward the doors of a gold-plated lift, too focused on the hand that hasn’t left his to really think much about anything else.

But then it does leave, and that unfreezes Phil long enough to look up at Dan’s face.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, lips twisting and pressing into a line that speaks of discomfort. “I shouldn’t just- I mean, I don’t want to like, invade your boundaries or anything, I-” 

Phil coughs out a giggle - _completely_ unintentionally - at Dan’s words, and Dan’s face scrunches up. But really, _invade his boundaries?_ That’s definitely an innuendo if Phil’s ever heard one.

“Sorry, sorry, no, I wasn’t-” Phil tries to explain, “ _‘invade my boundaries_ ’?” He sputters out, and Dan’s eyes widen and then _he’s_ giggling as well, and of course that’s exactly when the doors of the lift open and a few older and _far_ more nicely-dressed couples drift out. They make a point of staring down their noses at him and Dan, which only makes Phil want to laugh harder - he manages to hold it in until the doors have slid shut and both he and Dan are alone in the lift.

Then he’s full on laughing, and Dan joins in a moment later, and he’s really hoping the only other stop is on the top floor or someone’s bound to get on and go all judgmental on them like those other people had.

“Did you _see_ them, oh my _god_?” Dan manages through heavy breaths, once they’ve both calmed down just enough to be coherent. Phil nods and another giggle escapes his throat at the memory.

“I’ve never seen people look so _pissed_ at someone being happy before,” Phil says, his face stretched tight in a grin in spite of his words.

“You know they were all prim and proper upstairs,” Dan shakes his head, “eating dainty little bites and judging everyone around them for being plebs, and then they got all upset because they had to keep pretending like they _wanted_ to act like they had a stick shoved up their asses.” He leans against the wall of the lift just opposite the doors and watches Phil with a soft smile. Suddenly, Phil’s not entirely sure what kind of response he’d been about to give. 

They both go silent for a moment, some jazzy lift tune floating in to fill the quiet around them; Dan just quirks a brow, like he’s waiting for Phil to speak. Familiarity tugs at his gut, though he can’t quite say why, but then Dan’s words click in his head and he breaks into a huge smile.

“They _wish_ they were us,” he says simply, and Dan nods like that’s what he’d been hoping Phil would say. The doors slide open a moment later, and a fancy-looking butlery man greets them both.

“Sirs, might I ask the reservation name?” He even _sounds_ like a stereotypical butler, and Phil makes a mental note of the tone and accent - he likes to use character voices for each different person in his stories, especially for the children’s tales, and he’s fairly certain he’s not yet done anything with a stuffy old butler voice before.

“Howell,” Dan says, and Phil decides to make a mental note of that as well - it’s only their first proper date, not counting the coffee shop a few days ago, but Phil’s got a feeling he might really like this guy. Which is a silly feeling to have after only knowing someone a few days, and he sort of wants to blame it on the fact that he’s not been seeing anyone in ages, but he just has a good gut feeling about Dan.

Or maybe it’s some other kind of feeling - Phil’s trying quite hard to keep from staring at Dan’s ass the whole way to their table.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the butler assures them as they sit, and Phil takes a moment to absorb the new environment: they’re nearly forty floors up and overlooking the city at night, their table situated right next to a wall of windows that surrounds the restaurant. Phil allows himself only another moment of staring before turning back to find Dan watching him, a small smile on his lips.

“You like it?” He asks, and Phil almost wants to laugh at the uncertainty in his tone - how could _anyone_ dislike this?

“It’s incredible, and really really fancy,” Phil adds, which only makes Dan’s smile widen for some reason. Then he presses his lips into a line, like he’s trying hard not to be _too_ happy, and Phil wants to tell him not to do that. He wants to say Dan’s got a lovely smile and he looks really pretty when he’s happy, but he doesn’t have the nerve and he doesn’t get the chance to work it up before their server arrives with an equally bright but far more plasticky grin tacked on her face.

“Good evening, sirs, and welcome. Can I get you anything to drink aside from water?” She _sounds_ plasticky too, like she doesn’t want to be here. Which is a shame, as Phil’s been here for all of five minutes and it seems like a great - albeit a little stuffy - place.

“I was thinking of getting some wine?” Dan tilts his head at Phil, and Phil’s brows lift slightly. “If you’d like some as well?” He clarifies, and Phil’s thankful he didn’t have to ask why he was being asked. 

“Sure, uh, red for me?” He glances between Dan and the waitress - he’s far from proficient in anything wine-related, but he prefers the sweeter kind, and usually that’s red. Dan nods.

“Let’s do a zinfandel, a bottle?” He turns to the waitress, who nods and offers a polite ‘of course’ before heading back to the bar. Phil watches Dan watch her leave, then brown eyes focus on him with a soft gaze. “It’s a sweeter one, is that okay?” He asks, and Phil does his best not to look too surprised - surely Dan can’t read his mind, can he? 

No, he reasons, or he wouldn’t have been so caught off guard by Phil thinking his name was Greg. He dips his head at the memory of that embarrassing realization - Dan’s not let him forget it, either.

“Yeah,” he says to his plate, and now he’s _really_ hoping Dan can’t read his mind or he’ll definitely never hear the end of the whole name debacle. Out of nowhere, then, there’s a brush against his leg under the table, and his head shoots up; Dan’s just staring, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Thought you might like that, since you were all ‘pumpkin spice pumpkin sugar cinnamon latte whatever’.” He grins and pokes Phil’s leg with his shoe, and Phil grins right back and returns the favor.

“That’s _Mister_ pumpkin spice pumpkin sugar cinnamon whatever to you, Howell.” Phil’s face sort of hurts from how hard he’s smiling because Dan’s smile keeps getting bigger and they keep poking each other under the table and _hell_ it feels like it’s been ages since Phil’s had this much fun with someone his age. 

“Oohoo, someone gets testy if they aren’t addressed properly, I’ll note that down, _sir_ ,” Dan says through a giggle, brows quirking up at the word ‘sir’. Phil bites his lip against a full-on laugh, partly because that wouldn’t be appropriate for such a fancy restaurant and partly because the waitress is just walking up with their wine, and that’d be really embarrassing to burst out in laughter just as she’s approaching.

Besides, he’s not entirely sure he could explain what about Dan’s reaction was so funny, it just _was_.

“Your wine, sirs,” the woman says, and that just about does it - Dan coughs into his hand, though it’s nowhere near subtle enough to hide the fact that he’s a second away from losing it entirely, and Phil kicks him under the table to try to shush him. Which only earns him a shit-eating grin for his efforts, and he barely stumbles through a thanks when it becomes clear that Dan’s in no position to attempt to speak.

The second the waitress is out of earshot, which Dan confirms with a quirk of his brows at Phil, they both sputter out barely-muffled laughter.

“ _Sirs_.” Dan manages the word through another round of giggles, and that doesn’t help Phil regain any semblance of control - his entire body aches just from trying to keep his laughter to an appropriate volume, and he wonders if he’s getting enough of an ab workout to warrant a dessert later. He figures, based on the burn in his stomach, he probably is.

“Well,” Phil tries, once they’ve both quieted down to heavy huffs of breath and wide grins, “if I’m mister sir pumpkin spice whatever, what does that make you?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“Oh, I told you,” Dan presses his lips together in a way Phil has trouble deciphering. “You can call me whatever you want.” There’s an undertone to Dan’s voice that Phil isn’t quite sure he’s ready to be reading into, and that combined with the way Dan dips his head just slightly, peeks up at him through thick lashes before lifting his wine glass to his lips - yeah, Phil’s not exactly in a good position to be thinking too much on what Dan’s implying there.

It’s only a first date, and that’d be a lot for a first date, wouldn’t it?

Phil takes a large sip of his wine - perfectly sweet, in his opinion - and tries to quiet the part of his mind that wants to follow this particular storyline and see where it goes. Besides, Phil’s no good at flirting, he’d surely muck the whole thing up on the first go, and Dan wouldn’t even consider another date. Best to stick to the easy stuff.

“Hello, sirs, can I take your order?” The waitress’ voice startles Phil, though Dan doesn’t seem too bothered, and he sets his glass down smoothly before looking up to Phil.

“I’m ready to order,” he tells the waitress, though his eyes never leave Phil’s, “are you?” This is definitely directed at Phil, he reasons, given that the waitress isn’t likely to be ordering. And Phil’s not really looked at the menu at all - Dan’s been a bit distracting thus far. Phil flips open the menu with an _uhhhh_ , pleased to find that, fancy restaurant that it is, it’s only got a handful of plates to choose from.

“Go ahead, I’ll figure it out,” he mumbles at the menu. He casts a quick glance up to Dan, whose lips twist briefly, but Phil nods a reassurance and Dan seems to take that to mean he should go ahead.

“The pasta primavera?” Dan says, and Phil scans the menu again - he’d missed it the first time, a bit caught up on the lamb, but the pasta sounds much more up his alley. 

“I’ll have the same, but no cheese?” Phil adds, handing the waitress his menu. Then they’re left alone again, and Phil tilts his head at Dan, who’s just lifting his wine glass for another sip.

“You already knew what you wanted,” Phil notes, and Dan’s brows quirk up his forehead; he keeps the glass in the air, matching Phil’s head tilt.

“Keen observation.” He smirks, and Phil leans back in his chair - he knows what he wants to say, though he’s unsure whether it’ll ruin the evening. But now the idea’s in his head, it’ll bother him if he doesn’t get an answer.

“Do you take all your dates here, then? Impress them with a view and a fancy meal?” Phil doesn’t drink often, but he’s not entirely sure he can blame the one sip of wine he’s had for his sudden brashness. Maybe it’s an aftereffect of their bouts of laughter earlier, some weird high he’s yet to come down from that’s letting words slip out he might never normally dare to say. Dan, for his part, doesn’t seem too startled by the implication.

“Only the ones I like,” he quips back, lifting the glass back to his mouth; Phil watches, enraptured, as he takes a sip, then flicks his tongue out over his lips to capture any wayward wine.

“Oh, so I’ve made the short list, have I?” Phil does his best to keep the attitude light and playful, although he’s suddenly feeling a bit like he’s drowning - clearly, Dan’s done this before. Done it recently, maybe done _more_ and maybe with people he likes much better than Phil. He takes a sip of his own wine, tasting much more of the bitter than the sweet.

“Congratulations, you have, and you should be quite proud - it’s a _very_ short list.” Dan tilts his head, leaning back to match Phil’s feigned casual posture. “Just one guy, actually, goes by the name of Mister pumpkin spice pumpkin sugar cinnamon thing, or sometimes Technically Philip, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him?” Dan’s face breaks into a shit-eating grin that Phil’s finding far more endearing with each time it comes up, and he’d be lying if he said Dan’s answer doesn’t make him feel like he’s flying.

While the night doesn’t actually end until Phil’s returned home to his flat and tucked himself into bed, he considers the peak of the evening his ride down in the lift with Dan: they’d finished the entire bottle of wine and, in spite of the pasta - and a rich, chocolatey mousse dessert - Phil had felt light and giddy stepping into the confines of the lift. Although that might’ve had a lot more to do with the person he’d stepped in with. 

Dan had wasted no time moving closer to Phil, close enough that they’d have been chest to chest if not for a few painful inches of space between them.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Dan had said, practically against Phil’s lips, and that’d been it - Phil had leaned forward, just enough to close the gap, and Dan had made a little noise of surprise before leaning right back into Phil, pushing him up against the wall and deepening the kiss in a matter of seconds. 

And Phil hadn’t complained - far from it, he’d instead been immensely upset by the ding signaling their arrival at the ground floor, jarring them from their little world and forcing them to step out into the lobby and pretend they’d not just spent the ride down making out.

Phil had almost suggested they stay on, take a quick trip back up and then down again, but Dan had just grinned at him and said he had a lovely night, and he hoped they could pick up where they left off again soon.

Suffice to say, Phil falls asleep to thoughts of boys and lifts and kisses.


	4. just another lovesick afternoon

The fourth time Phil meets Lift Boy is purely on accident - although it’d be fair to say most of the times he’s met Lift Boy have been entirely unintentional. But this time, it’s outside in the fresh air, nowhere near a lift.

“Jeremy, no- _no_ , you can’t hit her just because she wasn’t nice, use your words!” Phil calls across the playground, chastising the boy for pushing Emily. The girl doesn’t seem too bothered, already making her way over to the swings, but it’s the principle of the matter.

“Phil?” If Phil were a dog, his ears would perk up and he’d be wagging his tail, he’s sure - he’d recognize that voice anywhere. He turns to find Dan walking across the patch of grass toward him, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his body not to rush over and pick up _exactly_ where they’d last left off - the memory of the lift hasn’t left his mind since it happened nearly three days ago, and he hopes the same goes for Dan.

“Dan!” He can feel his grin widening even further as Dan gets closer; he’s wearing another black jumper, but one with white lines across it. The sleeves aren’t quite as long either, though it looks like Dan wishes they were, with how he’s stretched one out a bit, protecting his free hand against the chilly air. “What are you doing here?” He’s desperately hoping his words come across relatively light and not as accusatory as they might sound. Dan’s got every right to be wherever he wants, and Phil’s already preparing an explanation if Dan seems at all bothered by his question.

“Coffee,” is Dan’s only response, though, and he lifts a to-go cup in the air between them. A waft of strong coffee smell hits Phil’s nose a moment later, and he’s suddenly wishing he’d had the foresight to stop by a shop this morning as well. As it stood, though, he’d been running late for his shift at the daycare, and they had that field trip out to the park planned for today. At Phil’s suggestion. So he could hardly show up late with a coffee in hand.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Dan says just before taking a sip, and Phil wonders if coffee tasted from Dan’s lips would be just as intoxicating as the wine on them had been in the lift the other night. And then Dan quirks a brow, and Phil realizes he’s just staring - and _then_ he recalls he’d been asked a question, which reminds him exactly where he is and why he _cannot_ be thinking about the lift with Dan, no matter how much he’d like to.

“Oh! The kids, uh, took them for a trip to the playscape.” Phil gestures over his shoulder. Then he figures he ought to actually _look_ , since he’s meant to be watching them; a quick glance sets his spike of nerves at ease, though - everyone seems unhurt and relatively well-behaved.

When he turns back, however, Dan’s eyes have gone wide and he looks a bit shell-shocked, brows arched high up his forehead and mouth dropped open. And then everything closes up, and he clears his throat before Phil can properly process what the expression had been for; he doesn’t _think_ he’s said anything too unusual, but then, his definition of ‘unusual’ rarely matches anyone else’s…

“Didn’t realize you had, uh, kids,” Dan mumbles, and his gaze drops to the space between them; the gears in Phil’s brain clunk along, grinding against each other without the lubricant of caffeine to get them moving properly, and it takes a full five seconds for him to realize what Dan must’ve assumed.

“No! No, it’s not- they’re, they’re not _mine_ , I mean they sort of are, but not like, they’re-” Phil stumbles through his words, cursing his lack of eloquence - of course, he can spout line after line of crystal clear and articulate descriptions when he’s writing, but faced with a single embarrassing moment of real-life miscommunication, his brain somehow only manages to make the whole thing worse.

“Phil?” This voice comes from behind him, and it’s not nearly as lovely as the one belonging to the guy standing in front of him, but he supposes that can’t be helped. “We were thinking we ought to round everyone up and head back in a minute here, so we can get them a snack before- oh! Hello!” Patrice comes to a stop right at Phil’s shoulder, and he twists his lips before responding.

“Uh, Patrice, this is my- uh, my friend, Dan, and Dan, this is my colleague, Patrice, who works with me at the Tall Oaks daycare just up the road.” Phil widens his eyes just a bit, hoping the introduction is enough to clear up the mess he’d nearly just walked right into with Dan - not that he doesn’t think he’d want kids someday, but he certainly doesn’t have any _now_ , and it’s not something he’d purposely keep from Dan either.

Unlike Dan, he tends to be quite honest when he meets people.

Dan, for his part, catches on almost immediately; his expression softens, and he extends a hand and offers a warm smile. Phil watches the sleeve of his jumper push up just past his wrist, something about the exposure suddenly fascinating to him. Which, Phil makes a little mental note to himself, is quite a silly thing to think about and he should probably stop.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Dan,” Dan says again, in spite of Phil’s introduction, and Phil shuffles aside to let Patrice properly greet him. 

“Patrice, and likewise, dear! It’s rare we meet any of Phil’s friends, and forgive us for dragging him away so quickly!” She gushes, at which point Phil feels about ready to dig a hole in the middle of the park and bury himself in it.

“Right, sorry! I’ll uh- we can talk later?” Phil offers over his shoulder, already waving a hand at a mildly-confused-looking Dan and dragging Patrice off toward Bill and the slowly conglomerating group of children. “Did you _have_ to basically tell him I’m lame and have no friends?” He whispers at Patrice, trying his best not to sound like the whining kids they have to deal with on a regular basis. He’s very aware that he’s failing miserably.

“He seems like a nice lad!” Patrice answers, completely ignoring Phil’s suffering. Then she pulls herself free of Phil’s loose grip on her arm, waving at the remaining children who have yet to make their way back over. 

Because he has absolutely no self control, Phil glances back over his shoulder just to see if Dan’s still there. Which he is, sat on the same bench Phil had been sat on not too long before Dan showed up, and he lifts his cup at Phil before taking a sip. Phil wishes desperately that he could say he isn’t enraptured by the bright pink of Dan’s lips and cheeks, visible even at this distance, but he very much is. So much so that he has no trouble telling when those lips quirk up in a smirk, and the only thing that manages to tear his gaze away is the tug of a tiny hand on the leg of his jeans.

“Mr. Phil, are we going back now?” Tim asks, wide brown eyes blinking up at him from a dusting of dark blond-brown hair. The sight sparks a memory he really can’t place, but the moment of recognition is gone as soon as he’s had it, and then Bill’s calling for everyone to line up and Phil just takes Tim’s hand and leads him back to the group.

\------------------

The fifth time Phil meets Lift Boy is actually on the very same day as the fourth, though the nearest lift happens to be several buildings over, and, if not for the initial reasoning behind the naming of Lift Boy - and if Phil actually knew that Lift Boy was, in fact, Lift Boy - he might’ve chosen a different name altogether.

Like Dan, perhaps. Or ‘the cute guy who showed up at my work with coffee’. 

“Phil!” Dan says, loudly enough that it startles Phil - or maybe it’s just that it’s _Dan_ , and he really hadn’t been expecting Dan to be here. Or at the park earlier, for that matter. A smirk curls his lips just before he turns to find Dan walking up, two cups in hand.

“Are you _stalking_ me?” He asks, tilting his head and doing what he hopes is a halfway decent mock-horrified expression; he’s quite proud of the way Dan’s mouth drops open, the way his eyes go a bit wide - for once, it seems he’s managed to catch Dan off guard with a joke. 

And then the moment’s gone, and Dan’s smile matches his own. 

“I _was_ , and I’ve actually been waiting out here for _hours_ \- your coffee’s gone cold, sorry.” He quips back, and Phil’s momentary burst of confidence falters as he eyes the cup Dan extends toward him.

“You haven’t been waiting too long, have you?” Phil was _technically_ meant to get off work half an hour ago, but he’d stayed to help watch a few of the kids whose parents had been running late - if he’d known Dan was waiting, he’d have at least invited him inside.

“I- no, no, Phil.” Dan sputters out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “It was a joke, I- I mean it’s only been like ten minutes,” he says, dropping his gaze to the pavement; Phil can’t say for sure, but he’s wondering if there’s not a bit more color in his cheeks than had been there before. A part of him wants to keep teasing Dan, to make another joke, but his softer side wins out and he reaches for the cup Dan’s still holding out for him. Contrary to his words, it’s most definitely still warm.

“Well thank you, you didn’t have to bring me coffee or wait for me,” Phil says as genuinely as he can manage - he _is_ grateful, and he doesn’t want that to get lost in the joking atmosphere floating around them. Dan just shrugs, but his cheek lifts in a small smile, and Phil’s more than pleased to see that dimple return. 

Phil turns toward the direction of his flat, though he’s not entirely sure what Dan’s planning on doing, but if he seems intent on continuing his stalking, Phil has no mind to stop him. In fact, he’s actually considering inviting Dan along, but Dan seems to have quite a mind of his own and links his arm through Phil’s before setting off down the street. At least they’re headed the right way, though Phil’s fairly certain he’d follow Dan anywhere.

“Hope a caramel macchiato will be sweet enough for you.” Dan quirks a brow at Phil, glancing sideways and offering a quick grin before taking a sip of his own drink. Phil does his damndest to think of a clever comeback, something to do with sweetness, but his brain feels fried and he decides it’s best to ingest some sugar and caffeine to help things along.

After he’s lifted the drink to his lips and nearly burned his tongue off, he fights back a smirk of his own.

“It’ll do.” He shrugs, the motion reminding him how close Dan really is, pressed against his side basically from shoulder to hip. “I could probably think of something sweeter, though.” He forces his gaze to remain fixed on the pavement in front of them, though he knows his grin is probably giving him away.

“Oh?” Dan sounds _far_ too intrigued, a tone Phil’s quick to recognize means he’s playing along. “And what’s that, hm?” 

It’s at this point Phil realizes he’s not prepared a great response - he honestly didn’t expect Dan to run with it, though he’s starting to realize he probably should’ve. Dan, it seems, quite enjoys having a bit of fun. Phil would almost think it’s at his expense, but he seems just as comfortable making jokes about himself as he is about Phil, and Phil really doesn’t feel at all offended. He’s also just now realizing he’s still yet to answer Dan’s question.

“You?” He blurts out, since that’d been the general direction he’d been headed with the joke, though he really can’t think of anything better and his cheeks turn warm against the brisk October air. Dan huffs out a breath of laughter beside him, but his arm stays linked with Phil’s and he doesn’t seem intent on dropping Phil on the spot for his poorly executed attempt at flirting.

“You don’t sound very sure about that,” Dan muses, tone low in a way that makes Phil glance over - but Dan doesn’t _look_ like he’s got anything planned, he’s just staring ahead, a soft, casual smile on his lips. “Maybe you should do a taste test, just to be sure.” If Phil hadn’t been watching Dan’s mouth form those words, he’d be pretty sure he made them up in his head, heard them on a phantom wind blowing in his ear. But no, Dan had really suggested that, and now he turns and locks eyes with Phil.

Phil’s feet stumble to a halt on the pavement and Dan tugs him to the side, right into a little nook where an ivy-coated fence meets a brick wall. Somehow, those seem like important details to focus on - at least until Dan’s hand covers his, gently lifting his drink into the very small space between them. Phil’s not sure he’s blinked at all in the past minute, but he does now, just to check that he’s seeing things properly.

Sure enough, Dan’s still stood there, _that close_ , and glancing pointedly at the rim of the cup in Phil’s hand - in both their hands, because that’s still happening as well. Phil can’t decide if he should savor that for another moment or do as he’s being silently instructed. 

“If you don’t take a sip, I’m not kissing you.” Dan tilts his head, and that’s all it takes for Phil to lift the drink to his lips - it’s still just as sweet as before, but the burn isn’t quite as strong this time around. Logically, he thinks it’s to do with the fact that it’s probably cooled a bit, but with every other part of his body on fire at the moment, he’s wondering if any burn on his tongue just pales in comparison.

Just as he lowers the cup, Dan leans in, pressing an equally warm kiss to his lips - it’s slow, soft, and tastes like coffee and maybe something caramelly as well, though he’s having a hard time telling what flavors come from Dan and which had been there to begin with. Then he’s having a hard time doing anything at all aside from _kiss Dan_.

This time isn’t at all like the rushed heat of the makeout session in the lift, though it certainly leaves Phil’s head spinning as much as it had been that night; he’s starting to wonder if that maybe had more to do with _Dan_ than the wine. Before he can think too hard - as if his brain is really capable of any advanced levels of thinking right now anyway - he wraps his free arm around Dan’s waist and pulls him flush against his chest. Or, he supposes, as close as they can be through a t-shirt and a jacket and Dan’s jumper.

Although Dan could potentially have another layer under his jumper, for all Phil knows. Suddenly, Phil would very much like to know, though Dan’s leaning back just a bit and Phil lets him break the kiss, taking a deep breath of cool air to help clear his head.

Right, they’re in the middle of the fucking pavement, which is maybe not the best time to be thinking about getting his- well, getting _Dan_ undressed.

“Well?” Dan asks, and Phil has to search through the tattered remains of his mind to recall that there’d been a _purpose_ to that kiss. Fortunately, the amount of time it takes him to get to that memory works out in his favor, and he lets his lips twist, lets his gaze drift up toward the darkening sky. He’d even go so far as to tap his chin, but that’d require putting more space between them, so he dismisses the idea in favor of keeping Dan close for another moment.

“Hm, which is sweeter…” He trails off, pretending to think it over; he glances back down to find Dan grinning, clearly enjoying the game. “Hard to say for sure, I think I’ll need another test.” He nods as if confirming this decision, which only makes Dan shake his head and roll his eyes.

“If you _insist_ ,” he grumbles, and it’s that kind of grumble that Phil can already tell he doesn’t really mean, especially when Dan leans in and his eyes start to drift shut.

Phil steps back just enough to stick his drink between them, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip. Once again, it seems he’s managed to take Dan off guard, and his eyes go wide for a moment and his brows arch high up his forehead, indignation written into every feature in his expression. Phil swallows before his giggles get the best of him - it’d completely ruin the joke if he ended up spitting coffee all over Dan.

Then a finger pokes into his side unexpectedly, and he lets out a yelp - it hadn’t _hurt_ , just surprised him - and Dan grins.

“I think the coffee’s a bit sweeter, actually,” Phil retorts, but he can’t fight the smile curling his lips anyway. 

As it turns out, Dan doesn’t live too far from Phil, and they’d parted ways at his building after Phil had managed to suggest one last kiss goodbye, just to be sure he wasn’t wrong about the coffee. Dan had laughed, indulged him - although he’d been the one to lean in first - and pulled back with a soft smile. 

Dan had nodded at the nearly empty cup in Phil’s hand, then, and said he was sure it was still a bit sweeter. Phil, probably pulling out every single ounce of smoothness and suaveness he’s ever had in his life, had just smiled and told Dan that yeah, that might be true, but he liked the taste of Dan much better.


	5. i can't even find an echo

The sixth time Phil meets Lift Boy isn’t actually a meeting at all. Well, not by any standard formality of a ‘meeting’, wherein one is in the physical presence of the other, but it’s a meeting nonetheless, and once again devoid of lifts.

 **Dan:** _you up?_

Phil gets the message just as he’s curling up in his duvet, his throat a little sore from a day of telling stories to the kids at the daycare and an evening of telling stories to his podcast listeners - it’s not the first time he’s done it, and it won’t be the last, but the cooling weather mixed with all the speaking never bodes well for his voice.

So he’d had some tea and been intent on getting a good night’s rest, a surefire way to help his throat, but his phone had buzzed and it _might’ve_ been Dan and that’d really been the beginning of the end. The bright screen makes him squint, but he’s already grinning as he types out a response.

**Phil: __**_Yeah, what’s up?_

**Dan:** _both of us apparently_

Phil huffs out a breath at the screen, trying to decide how exactly to respond - their texts have been vaguely flirty, but not _always_ , and never really over the top. It seems Dan prefers to get Phil flustered in person, not that Phil would complain.

**Dan: __**_i’m bored care to entertain me?_

Phil’s eyeballs threaten to fall out of his head with how hard he’s not-blinking; did Dan mean _entertain_ entertain? Or just...a regular sort of entertainment? Just talking, maybe? Emojis of some kind would be _much_ appreciated right now, he decides.

 **Phil:** _What did you have in mind?_

That feels safe enough, though he turns on his side and curls his knees up into his chest, trying to remain calm as he waits - what if Dan meant _entertainment_ entertainment? It’s not that Phil’s not up for it, because in theory he’d be _well_ into it, but he suddenly can’t properly imagine sending messages like that; besides, Dan would _surely_ be much more well-versed, if his quick bants and flirting are anything to go by.

It’s just then that Phil’s phone buzzes again, and the screen’s brightness pulls him back to reality - to _Dan calling him_ , and a whole new wave of fear rushes through his chest, because what if Dan wants phone sex or something? At least with a text, Phil has time to think and make sure he sounds sexy and flirty and like he knows what he’s doing, but he’s already proven how inept he is at actual on-the-spot interaction.

The phone buzzes again, and he twists his lips at it - but it’s _Dan_ , so he hits the accept button. 

“ _Phil?_ ” Dan says, voice low and crackly like he’d been asleep and only just woken up. Phil suddenly wonders why he’d been so hesitant to answer - it’s _Dan_ , and he loves talking to Dan.

“Hey,” Phil says, the epitome of _cool_ , though his voice does sound a bit scratchy still. He hopes Dan won’t notice - now he’s got Dan on the phone, he doesn’t want him to worry he’s sick and end the call.

“ _Hey_ ,” Dan says right back, and Phil can hear the smile in his voice. Then the line falls mostly silent, and Phil listens to Dan’s soft breathing on the other end; unintentionally, his eyes drift shut, and he tells himself he’ll just rest them for a bit.

“ _Phil?_ ” Phil blinks at his name, inhaling deeply, and forces his eyes to stay open this time.

“Yeah, you wanted some entertainment?” Phil mumbles into the phone, more to keep himself awake than anything - now that he’s laying in bed, his brain just wants to shut off for the night. But his heart wants to keep talking to Dan, so he tells his brain to shut up and stay alert a little longer.

“ _I did,_ ” Dan says, and now Phil’s nerves bubble back up - he can’t read the tone in Dan’s voice _at all_ , and he’s not sure if he should _suggest_ something or- “ _Tell me a story_.”

Phil blinks into the darkness around him at the request - Dan wants a _bedtime story?_ His brain’s still only functioning just enough to process one emotion at a time, so confusion and disappointment and relief all wage war for the honor of being that single emotion.

“A story?” He finally asks, after he’s pretty sure he’s settled on confusion as the emotion of the moment. There’s a heavy, low breath on the other end of the line, and it takes Phil a second to realize it’s a laugh.

“ _You said you tell stories, don’t you? So tell me one_.” Dan’s voice sounds clearer now, or maybe it’s adrenaline or something racing through Phil’s veins; _sure_ he tells stories, but they’re either silly little kids’ stories or pieces of long, epic tales that Dan probably wouldn’t understand unless Phil started from the beginning. And he doesn’t have his computer in front of him, so he’d get it all wrong.

“I don’t- uh, what kind of story?” Phil caves without really any resistance at all, because it’s _Dan_ , and a little piece of him - okay, a _huge_ piece - wants to impress him, to show off a bit. To have Dan say something about how creative he is or how he loved the plot and he loves his mind and _wow_ Phil should probably just get to sleep if this is the direction his tired thoughts are taking.

“ _Whatever kind of story you want,_ ” Dan says softly, and that ends up being all Phil needs. He decides on a story he’s told a hundred times to the kids at the daycare, even though it’s a bit childish, because he doesn’t have to think very hard to get it right - if Dan’s small hums throughout are anything to go by, he’s interested at the very least, and Phil’s far too focused on getting to the end to worry if the interest comes from a place of judgment.

“ _That was lovely, Phil_.” Phil smiles at the sincerity of the words, though he’s already let his eyes drift shut - it was just to imagine the scene better in his head, he reasons, he’s definitely _not_ falling asleep, not with Dan on the phone and saying something else nice into his ear. He isn’t sure what the thing is, though, it just sounds nice and his voice sounds nice and whatever scene he’d been picturing in his head shifts to one where Dan’s right beside him, curled around him and whispering those words in his ear as he drifts off…

“ _Phil?_ ” Phil makes a sound he hopes comes across as fully awake, given the nature of Dan’s not-very-quiet tone. “ _Are you sleeping?_ ” This is a little softer, but Phil does his best to shake his head into the pillow and offer a muffled negative response of some kind. 

“ _You can sleep, if you want._ ” But Dan’s voice sounds a lot more like he’d rather Phil didn’t sleep, so he scrunches up his face and flexes all his muscles under the duvet and tries his best to wake his brain and body up. He even goes as far as to roll over entirely, the cool of the pillow under his cheek providing just enough sensation to get him opening his eyes and staring into the blackness of his room.

“No, no, I’m up,” he argues, which earns him a soft chuckle from Dan, and Phil’s lips curl down in a lazy approximation of a frown. “I’m _awake_ ,” he insists.

“ _Sure, sure you are, okay_ ,” Dan agrees, amusement laced through his tone. “ _How about this, you told a story, now it’s my turn._ ” Phil feels like there’s something very suspicious in that, but he’s too tired to really properly contemplate what that might be, so he just mumbles a ‘fine’ and settles himself in.

“ _Once upon a time-_ ” Dan breaks off when Phil huffs out a poorly-concealed breath of laughter at the cliche. “ _What? It’s my story, I can tell it however I want!_ ” His voice gets a little louder, a little higher, a little more indignant.

“‘Kay, m’kay, fine, go on.” Phil giggles into the pillow, listening to Dan take a breath that sounds a lot like he’s trying to reset and compose himself; if Phil closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it in his head, Dan’s features smoothing out, his arms uncrossing as he inhales and exhales slowly. Phil doesn’t really bother opening them back up again - it’ll be easier to get immersed in Dan’s story this way.

“ _Once upon a time,_ ” Dan pauses here, and Phil imagines him quirking his brows, a silent command not to judge this time. “ _There was a little boy, his name was- well, that’s not important. There was a little boy…_ ” 

That’s the last line Phil properly hears, and the rest is lost as his brain finally succumbs, as the soft sound of Dan’s voice in his ear lulls him to sleep.

\---------

_**Dan’s story** _

_Once upon a time...there was a little boy, his name was- well, that’s not important. There was a little boy, and he didn’t have lots of friends. But don’t worry, this isn’t a sad story, even though it sounds like it, I promise._

_So he’s not got many friends, nor any siblings either - not yet, anyway. And his family’s lived in this little flat in Manchester for the past year and a half, and it’s full of adults without any kids which, for a kid, is about as unfun as you can probably imagine. And yes, ‘unfun’ is definitely a word, don’t even go there._

_Phil? Are- of course you fell asleep, you dork. Fine, you’ll just have to dream the story, then._

_Anyway, so it’s horrible and awful and the boy really just hates it. And he wants to get away, but he can’t exactly leave, because he doesn’t know where he’d go - he did try, once, but he got about as far as the sweets shop down the road before he realized he didn’t have anywhere but the little flat in the building he hates, he didn’t have anyone but his sort-of-okay family and all the other random strangers he doesn’t like being around._

_So he’d gone and trudged back to the building and over to the lift, but he didn’t want to go home yet, because he’d run away and you can’t very well run away and come back only a few minutes later. So he’d sat on the lift for ages and ages, watching all the grown-ups and making up little stories in his head about them and their lives, because he was a kid and kids do things like that._

_Now, he’d been doing this about a month and a half - the only reason he knew that was because school was starting, and he’d only begun sitting around on the lift when school had just ended for the summer. But anyway- wow, I’m really shit at storytelling compared to you, aren’t I?_

_Anyway! Fuck, okay, keeping my voice down. Anyway, he’d been sat on the lift for a bit after coming home from his first day back at the stuffiest, worst-ever private all-boys school and making up story after story about the equally stuffy adults. He wouldn’t say so to anybody who asked, but he sort of came to depend on those stories._

_Because the idea of growing up and being a stuffy boring person in a life he hated, always frowning and grumpy and angry at the world, that absolutely terrified him._

_So everyone had this secret double life, at least they did inside the boy’s head, and that was enough to get by, enough to pretend the world wasn’t as horrible and bleak and uninteresting as it appeared. And the boy actually sort of liked the lift, the make-believe he got to play inside the tiny space - it worked as an escape for him._

_But then one day another kid showed up, got on the lift and squeezed himself back into the corner with the boy. And the boy was floored by this - another kid? Out of nowhere? Maybe things were looking up, maybe he could make a friend. And the kid- I can’t believe this, honestly. The kid said to the boy that he shouldn’t be afraid of the lift?_

_I guess I didn’t really understand it at the time- he didn’t, the boy didn’t understand it, not me. I wasn’t there. I’m just telling the story, of course. Anyway, he didn’t understand it, because who’s afraid of the lift? And he actually quite liked the lift, so he decided maybe he should share a bit of why he liked it so much, so the other boy would like it too. And maybe they’d become friends over the stories, the little pretend lives the boy had created for the boring adults._

_So the boy told some of his stories, and the other boy kept coming back, kept smiling and nodding at every single one, asking questions and giggling along with the boy, and the boy started to feel like maybe he was happy, like maybe things were going to be good. He was even glad he didn’t run away all those weeks ago._

_But- and this is the part where I have to promise, again, that it’ll be a happy ending. I know you’re asleep, but this is for the dream-Phil, it’ll be a good dream, I promise. But right now, it’s a little sad, because one day - after riding the lift for a long time - the boy had come back to his family’s flat and his mum had stopped him right in the door, picked him up as if he were a baby and told him she had some news._

_They weren’t going to be staying in Manchester any longer._

_The boy, of course, had cried and screamed and hidden himself away in his room, full of the kind of rage and pent-up energy that only a small child who’s not given his way can be. And he almost - almost - didn’t ride the lift the next morning._

_But he did, he decided he had to, he had to get every last minute with his friend and tell all his stories if he could. For the next week, he told story after story, all the ones that’d been taking up space in his head, he gave them all to his friend. And then the day came when he had to leave, and he’d given up all his stories except one, his own story. That one he held onto just as tightly as he held his friend’s hand, and then he’d taken a deep breath and said that he was leaving, and he wouldn’t be coming back._

_And his friend left, ran out the door and disappeared and the boy wanted to start crying right then and there because he was sure he’d never see his friend again. But at least, he thought, his friend could have those stories._

_But! I promised- shit, I’m doing it again, quiet voice, okay. But as it turns out, the crazy random coincidences of the universe brought the boy and his friend together again, although the friend seems to have completely forgotten - which, by the way, is quite rude of you, Phil._

_But like I said at the beginning, I promised a happy ending. So when you wake up, I’ll get working on that._


	6. can't make a noise though i'm trying to

The seventh time Phil meets Lift Boy, it’s once again in the middle of a coffee shop. The very same one, as it would happen, that they met in for the first time - or technically the _second_ , as Dan had figured out.

Phil finds Dan already sat at a table in the back, not the same as they’d been in before but a tall one more in the middle of the space - it seems some couple has stolen their table, which makes Phil’s lips tug down even though he has no real claim over it and they’ve only actually sat there together once before.

“Hey!” Dan sounds exceptionally chipper, and that combined with just being in Dan’s presence makes Phil feel a little lighter, makes him grin as he slides into the free chair. A steaming mug of something sweet and topped with whipped cream sits in front of him, and it only takes a single deep breath to identify it as _definitely_ hot chocolate.

“Hope that’s fine, I was impatient and it’s sweet so I figured it was a good bet.” Dan dips his head at the mug, but Phil just grins brighter and lifts the drink to his lips - it’s definitely still hot, but he needs it. His throat isn’t exactly happy with the turn in weather and the fact that his main sources of income both require him to be rather talkative.

He takes a long sip, ignoring the burn on his tongue in favor of appreciating the chocolate and the smooth feeling against his sore throat, then nods in what he hopes is a sufficiently appreciative way as he sets the mug back in front of him. Except Dan’s sort of frowning, brows scrunched as he blows over his own drink.

“Is... _is_ that okay? I mean, I was just joking, you were only a couple minutes late...” Dan’s tone turns worried far too quickly, and Phil shakes his head, hoping he can get away with minimal talking, but Dan’s just going off now. “Sorry, I really should’ve waited, I need to get a hold of myself, honestly, I’m such a mess sometimes, and-”

“ _Dan_ ,” Phil barely croaks out, and he grimaces both at the raspy attempt at speaking and at the discomfort of, well, _actually_ speaking. It shuts Dan up, though, which Phil counts as a success until Dan’s expression shifts to something _concerned_ , lips twisted and brows tugged further together as he watches Phil.

“You didn’t tell me you were sick.” Dan says it softly, like _he’s_ the one trying to preserve his voice, and Phil shifts uncomfortably in his seat - he didn’t want to make Dan feel bad for him, he only wanted him to stop worrying. Though he supposes it’s pretty clear Dan’s only _more_ worried now, just in a different way. “You didn’t have to come meet me.” Dan dips his head, wrapping his hands around his mug, and Phil wishes he was sat right next to Dan so he could lift his chin and tell him it’s alright and that he _wants_ to be here.

The best he manages is to cough out a few ugly-sounding breaths before slumping back in his seat and dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling - how on earth is he meant to tell Dan how much he likes being around him, that it’s more than worth dealing with his sore throat, if he can’t even _talk_?

Then there’s a soft pressure against his leg under the table, and a smile fights its way to Phil’s lips. He looks back down to find Dan’s smiling as well, and Phil thinks maybe it’s okay he can’t talk, because otherwise he wouldn’t get to see this spark of a moment where it’s so incredibly clear that Dan just _understands_. 

They sip their drinks in silence for a few minutes, Dan’s foot still steadfastly touching Phil’s leg, and it’s such a strange source of comfort that Phil can hardly focus on the sugary drink he’d normally be thrilled for; all he can think about is how much he’d like Dan pressed against his side, or maybe Dan pressed against him _everywhere_. A brief moment flashes in his head of a dark room, a soft bed, Dan’s skin against his, a little sweaty and sticky but _hot_ and lips pressed against his and hands sliding over his back and maybe some nails digging in, and-

He’s suddenly _very_ glad he can’t talk when he feels the heat crawling up his cheeks, settling in what he’s sure is a very noticeable blush on his face - fortunately, there’s no way to accidentally let any embarrassing words slip off his tongue. 

“Phil?” Dan says out of nowhere, and Phil’s about half a second from ducking under the table altogether because what if Dan just _guesses_ what he’d been thinking about? There’s no way he could pretend, not if Dan accuses him - he’s always been a pretty shit liar. He does his best to swallow - the hot chocolate has helped his throat a little, at least - and quirk his brows up and offer a small hum. He’s not sure he looks quite as innocent as he’d like.

“What about tonight?” Dan’s brows scrunch, lips twisted in a frown, and Phil’s eyes go wide - he hadn’t _said_ anything, he knows that for sure, but _had_ Dan somehow guessed he was thinking about- well, he supposes Dan didn’t say anything _specific_ , just asked about ‘tonight’. Phil blinks a few times, then, and he must look confused enough.

“Your podcast? Since you can’t really talk?” Dan tilts his head, lifting his own brows and setting his mug back on the table with a clink. At which point Phil squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a raspy breath - he’d been so preoccupied by his coffee date with Dan that he’d entirely forgotten his other obligation for the day.

His lips twist into a grimace - he supposes he’ll have to cancel. It’s not ideal, and his audience won’t be pleased, but it’s so rare that he has to cancel or postpone that he doesn’t expect _too_ much disappointment. Really, it’s his own internal disappointment he has to cope with.

“Do you...like, what do you do, then?” Dan’s got his head tilted at Phil, hands wrapped around his mug and his lips turned down in a slight frown that brings out his dimple. Phil opens and closes his mouth at least three times before he decides trying to talk will only do more harm than good, then he fishes his phone from his pocket and pulls up the notes app.

He’s so focused on typing for a few moments that he doesn’t realize Dan’s disappeared until, well, he _reappears_ in the form of a warm presence pressed against Phil’s side; Dan’s peeking over Phil’s shoulder and down at the phone, so Phil does his best to focus and finish his explanation.

_Maybe just music tonight. Or I can reschedule or cancel. Probably cancel, so I have more time to recover. Plus I don’t know if I have enough music lined up for a full show._

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s…” Dan trails off, and Phil turns - intent on somehow expressing that it’s alright, it’s not the end of the world - just as Dan’s chin settles on his shoulder. They end up nose to nose, and Phil sucks in a breath, a little startled but absolutely frozen. Dan’s gaze drops, then flicks back up to meet Phil’s.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks, voice soft. “I could, I dunno, like...pick music or...something?” His lips twist and the question hangs in the air - a part of Phil would _love_ for Dan to see behind the scenes, had been thrilled that Dan thought his podcast was _cool_ , but the other part squirms; he _wants_ to show Dan everything, but he wants to be at his _best_ , he wants to watch Dan’s reaction to his stories, wants to see every expression he makes, and he can’t very well do that when he can’t even _tell his stories_.

“Only if you want!” Dan chimes in after a long moment of silence. The pressure of his chin disappears from Phil’s shoulder, and a wave of cool air replaces his warmth as Dan pulls away. Steps back. Offers a tight smile.

In a rush, Phil reaches out to grab Dan’s hand, tugging him back and into his side again. One-handed, he manages - thanks to the blessing of autocorrect - to type out a quick response.

_I would love the help, thank you_

\-------------

The key hovers just in front of the lock, not nearly as steady in Phil’s hand as he’d like - it’s not that he’s nervous about inviting someone into his flat, he’s certainly done that before, but something about the moment feels _important_. He shoves down the weird feeling in his stomach, then unlocks his door and steps inside.

Dan trails in behind him and Phil watches his expressions, waits for some kind of analysis - if he had the voice to speak, he knows he’d be going on about how he hadn’t had the chance to clean up, he didn’t expect Dan would be coming over today, he doesn’t usually leave his socks everywhere. The last bit is a lie, but Dan doesn’t need to know that. Yet.

“It’s _colorful_ ,” Dan says in a way that doesn’t sound as offensive as when his friend from uni had come down for a visit and said the same thing, like the guy had bitten a lemon and was trying to convince Phil that _no, it was quite delicious_.

Dan just seems amused, if his grin and wide eyes are anything to go by, and he sets to wandering through the space, gaze drifting from one thing to the next. Phil can’t figure out why, but something about the way he moves - like he _belongs_ here - settles in his chest and makes his lips curl up in a soft smile. He’s not entirely sure why he was so nervous about this.

Dan comes to a stop beside Phil’s computer, resting a hand on the mic.

“I could also like...explain what’s going on, too, if you want? That you’re sick?” Dan says softly, his eyes still fixed on the desk. Phil makes his way over to stand beside him and Dan turns, lips pressed into a line. It’s all Phil can do to offer a smile, a nod, wishing he had the words to properly thank Dan for his help - it’s bad enough he’ll have to postpone his story for another time, but it’d be far worse if he didn’t at least have _a_ voice helping him out.

“Okay.” Dan’s answering grin could light up the entire world, Phil thinks, and the bright feeling in his chest threatens to overwhelm him. Then Dan’s disappeared, plunked down in the spinny chair Phil usually does his shows from. Now that he’s thinking about the logistics, Phil twists his lips into a frown; he really only has the one chair, but he supposes they can switch off - Dan can have it when he’s explaining why Phil can’t do his stories or picking out music, and Phil can have it whenever he needs to get things started or change any of the settings. It’s strange that he feels strange about not having more chairs.

“So this is where the magic happens, yeah?” Dan asks, and Phil drops his gaze to find him wiggling the mouse, waking up Phil’s computer as if it were his own. So, naturally, Phil has a minor heart attack as he tries to remember what exactly he’d left up; his eyes go wide, trying to take in the screen as it lights up and assess just how embarrassed he ought to be in the next few moments.

He has to physically hold back from sighing in relief - it’s just one of the stories he’d been working on for later on, a few episodes ahead of where they are in the plot now. And now that it’s in his head, he can’t figure out why, exactly, he might’ve been embarrassed at anything he would’ve had pulled up. It’s not like he was watching porn.

Although there _might_ be a steamier scene coming up in his story, but he’s yet to write that. So no need to be as nervous as he had been.

“So you’ll have to tell me- uh, write down? I guess? How everything works? What you need me to do and say?” Dan’s voice pulls Phil out of his head and he finds brown eyes and a scrunched brow focused on him.

He scoots Dan aside, the chair rolling across the hardwood floor, and kneels down in front of his keyboard - he supposes this isn’t too bad, and maybe they could do this for a bit, with Dan in the chair and him on the ground if they both need to be at the computer. Phil pulls up a fresh document and makes a few quick notes.

_I’ll get everything set to start streaming, then you can come on to say I’m sick and it’ll just be music tonight. We can play some more kid-friendly tunes at first, then whatever we want later on, after eight. I think maybe if you just pop on and explain every hour or so, for anyone that tunes in late, that should be fine. I’ll queue up my playlists and then you can make your own. Go for something at least two hours long, that should cover the rest of the show._

As Phil types, Dan leans over and rests his chin on Phil’s shoulder, nodding along with each of Phil’s sentences.

_Oh and we’ll keep the mic off most of the time so we can talk, but I’ll point out the recording icon when it’s on so you know._

“So we can _talk_?” Dan laughs, his chin digging in, and it takes Phil a moment to realize why that’s so funny. Then he’s giggling as well, though it ends in a bit of a coughing fit for him. “You okay?” Dan’s tone hasn’t quite lost its humor, but it’s clearly a bit more concerned, more serious than a second ago.

Phil just nods and types out a quick note of _‘tea & dinner?_’ in the document before standing and gesturing to the kitchen. They’ve still got an hour or so before the show starts, and Phil’s not sure about Dan but he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch. Dan grins as well before standing, and Phil follows him into the small and - now that Phil’s remembering - _woefully_ understocked kitchen. To be fair, he’d been planning on ordering in tonight, though he's not sure what Dan would want.

"So you've got..." Dan beats him to the fridge, pulling it open and inspecting it with squinted eyes. "Some peppers, a carton of milk, and...do I even want to know what's in that box in the back?" Dan peeks up over the top of the door at Phil, brow quirked. Phil can feel his cheeks heating, and the urge to explain that he _really_ hadn't expected Dan to be over today pushes up his very sore throat.

"Don't suppose you'd be up for ordering pizza?" Dan asks, the fridge slamming shut as a form of punctuation, and Phil's face breaks into a relieved grin. In place of answering - because, really, how could he answer anyway? - he grabs Dan's hand and drags him back to the computer. He may or may not have Domino's bookmarked.

He plunks down in the chair and pulls up the site, picking out the pizza he usually gets - a sweet barbecue one, basically dessert without actually calling it dessert - and points at it, giving an exaggerated thumbs up to where Dan's hovering over his shoulder.

For a moment, Dan just frowns, his lips part like he's about to say something, and then his eyes go wide.

"No, you _have_ to try this one, it's _actually_ the best, here..." Dan rolls Phil and the chair aside and bends at the waist to lean over and find whatever inferior pizza he's about to select. So, naturally, Phil's gaze drifts to his ass - he can't help it, really, not with the way Dan's standing.

"The Sizzler," Dan says as he turns, and Phil sucks in a breath and looks back at Dan's face; heat floods his cheeks as he swallows, hoping Dan's not noticed. Except Dan's lip curls up in a smirk, and- "Were you staring at my _ass_ , Phil Lester?" Nope, he's definitely been caught. He actually goes as far as to open his mouth before he remembers he can't exactly speak right now.

So he shakes his head, which is so _obviously_ a lie but at least he can pretend, and his words aren't going to give him away. Dan just quirks a brow, licks his lips.

"Sure, Philip- _Technically_ Philip, whatever you say." He just grins and huffs out a breath of laughter, then he's focused again on the computer. "I can't eat a whole pizza myself, can you?" Phil scoots closer in his chair and shakes his head, and Dan peeks back over his shoulder just in time to catch the movement.

"Right, we'll split it then," he mumbles as he adjusts the order, "half yours and half mine. And _no_." There's an overly dramatic pause during which Dan tilts his head and gives Phil a very serious look before returning his attention to the screen. "You're not allowed to steal all of my half once you realize how _wrong you are_ and how good my pizza is."

Phil just lets out a chuckle-turned-cough - _as if_ he'll like Dan's better.


	7. you come around, i lose my brain

_Fine_. Phil has to admit that Dan’s pizza is better. But only _just_.

It’s also a little bit spicy, and he can’t tell if the warmth in his chest comes from the jalapeños or from how much he likes the way Dan’s laid out on the sofa, head on the armrest and legs falling off the other end, eyes shut and a contented grin on his face.

“I _guess_ ,” Dan mumbles into the air, “your pizza was pretty good too.” They’d ended up splitting both halves, after Phil had tried Dan’s and Dan had tried Phil’s, and now Phil’s full to the brim with delicious trash pizza and not at all feeling like he should be about to do a podcast. He feels more like he ought to crawl up on the sofa beside Dan and wrap his arms around him and maybe take a nap.

But he's sat on the ground by the coffee table and he's not sure that's something he’s really allowed do just yet, if they’re at _that_ stage. So he sits and stares over at Dan and lets himself exist in this happy, full moment for a bit.

Until Dan nearly flings himself from the sofa, scrambling to stand, and stumbles his way over to the computer. Phil can barely follow the uncoordinated-giraffe movements, and Dan's already wiggling the mouse to wake the screen before Phil's even had an opportunity to blink.

"Shit shit _shit_ have we- we haven't missed- oh thank _fuck_ , still five minutes." He grumbles all this at the computer while a wide grin spreads across Phil's face - watching Dan freak out might be kind of hilarious.

"Oh, yeah," Dan rolls his eyes the second they land on Phil, "I'm over here just trying to make sure we aren’t late, not to mention _save your show_ , you're _welcome_." He stalks back over to the sofa, lips pursed in a pout, and he drops down heavily.

"Thank you," Phil croaks out, because Dan deserves to hear how grateful he really is, in spite of his sore throat. Dan’s expression softens immediately, which may or may not have been part of Phil’s reasoning for attempting to speak, and he exhales a long, slow breath.

“ _Fine_ , I guess I’m glad to be helping you,” Dan says, though Phil didn’t really ask. He doesn’t mind hearing it, though; his face breaks into another grin, one that sort of hurts his cheeks, and Dan just shakes his head and purses his lips the way he does when he’s trying not to smile too much. If Phil had a voice, he might have enough nerve to tell him not to do that, that he should smile as big as he wants.

But he doesn’t, so he’s spared having to decide. Instead, he gets to decide on standing, on making his way back to the computer still awake from Dan’s frantic worry, and launching his streaming software. He peeks back over at the sofa to find Dan watching him, eyes squinted just slightly.

“If you’re about to tell me I have to get up after I _just_ sat down, I might have to take that back.” He stands in spite of his words, and Phil waits til he’s stood beside him to point everything out. Fortunately, Dan catches on quickly, and he doesn’t have to spend any time flipping back to his notes to type out what each button does. They’re quite well-labeled. 

“Right so basically just...be sure I click that when I want to talk,” Dan pokes the screen, “make sure that’s turned red,” another poke, “and otherwise just add songs here?” A final poke, and Phil nods before leaning away. Dan does the same. “Seems easy enough.” 

Then he goes and pushes Phil back, slides between him and the computer, and plunks down in Phil’s chair, crossing his leg and waving a hand in dismissal.

“Pretty sure I can take it from here.” He grins up at Phil, and Phil’s got a sudden urge to pin him there, to climb onto his lap and kiss the smirk off his lips, which is not at _all_ what he ought to be focused on when there’s literally a minute to the start of the podcast. 

So instead, he turns back to the computer, sets the software to streaming, and adjusts the mic so it’s pointed toward Dan. A very small, slightly selfish piece of him wants Dan to be nervous, wants him to cast anxious glances over at Phil in a silent confirmation that he’s doing everything right. He just wants to be acknowledged as the one that _knows_ everything instead of the one left floundering at every turn. 

But then Dan _does_ look at Phil, eyes a little wide as he scoots the chair closer to the computer, and that flash of nerves makes Phil’s chest sink - he _doesn’t_ want that, not really, and he knows it. So he grins and gives a nod he hopes looks encouraging.

“Right, so, uh, obviously, I‘m not Phil,” Dan starts, gaze flicking between the mic and the computer and back to Phil in rapid succession. “He’s sick, so, uh, music tonight, and then-” He breaks off, turning to stare at Phil properly, lips moving in a silent question that Phil somehow manages to decipher. Really, he should probably feel a bit embarrassed at having Dan’s lips so casually memorized already, but he decides maybe that’s something to worry about later.

“Next time?” He croaks out instead.

“The story?” Dan confirms with a quick check back at him, and Phil nods. “The story’ll be back next time, as soon as Phil’s feeling better. Uh. Enjoy...the music?” He leans back, then, and clicks off the mic and switches over to Phil’s child-friendly playlist. 

His lips part for just a second, then he glances back at the screen, squinting at the corner before turning to Phil again. He mouths a silent ‘ _off?_ ’ and points, so Phil takes the excuse to move in closer, situate himself right next to Dan. Even though he could very clearly see the recording icon from where he’d been stood, and it’d definitely been off.

But he likes being close to Dan, so he pretends he couldn’t see, and Dan doesn’t scoot the chair away when he leans against it - and against Dan’s shoulder - to check the software.

When Phil straightens back up and looks down, offering a nod to Dan that he’s safe to talk, he finds himself a bit struck by the way Dan’s staring up at him - he’s all wide eyes, brown and big and patient, pink lips parted just a bit, mostly a factor of the angle he’s tilted his head at, and fluffy curls that practically _beg_ Phil to run a hand through them.

So he ignores the little spike of nerves in his chest that makes him wonder if he _can_ do that - if they’re at the stage in whatever their relationship is that he can just casually touch Dan - and slides his fingers through the soft curls. Dan stays absolutely still, and Phil watches his expression for any sign he should maybe not have done that.

Except none comes, aside from a moment where Dan’s eyes close for a bit longer than usual, but then they’re just as wide as they’d been before, staring up at Phil. Something about the way Dan’s lips part, then, just a _tiny_ bit more, makes Phil move his hand to the back of Dan’s neck, makes him lean down until those lips are _right there_.

“Much as I would love to...” Dan’s voice comes out nearly as hoarse as Phil’s has been, though it’s the low, gravelly sort of hoarse that only makes Phil want to close the gap between them. But there’s a hand on his shoulder that hadn’t been there before, and it keeps him just a bit too far away. Phil’s chest caves in, the rejection sucking away his excitement and hope and the lightness of getting to kiss Dan again. “You’re _sick_ , you spork.” Dan blows out a breath of laughter, and Phil realizes he’s let his expression sour along with his emotions.

“‘M not!” He argues, though only about half the letters actually make it out, the rest getting stuck in his still-sore throat. Dan just leans back, his cruelly tempting lips curled up in a smirk, and Phil lets him go, lets his hand drop down to the armrest of the chair to support him. He’s still not quite willing to return to being stood up, to being that much farther from Dan.

“Yes you are, now hush and drink your tea. We can pick that back up once you’re better.” Instead of waiting for Phil’s response - or maybe working under the assumption he’ll just do as he’s told - Dan spins back to face the computer, clacking away at the keyboard in search of whatever music he’s into. Which Phil’s realizing now he actually has no idea - somehow, that hadn’t come up between them yet.

So he shifts until he’s peeking over Dan’s shoulder, eyes narrowing to watch whatever song or artist Dan’s searching for, but Dan swivels in the chair until he’s facing Phil again, arms crossed and brows raised and lips pursed.

“I _said_ go drink your tea, Philip.” He sounds like a mum, and Phil can’t help but giggle - except Dan’s keeping a very serious face, even going as far as to dip his head toward the hopefully-still-warm mug of tea sat on the coffee table. In place of a response - not that he could really give one anyway - Phil lifts his hands in surrender and retreats to the lounge.

When he turns back to face Dan, tea in hand and still a shockingly drinkable temperature, he’s torn between wanting to rejoin him - to snoop and figure out his music taste - and stay right where he is and just watch him work.

Dan’s sat close to the desk, leaned a bit toward the screen - which is fair, given how small the window is for queueing music - and his fingers fly over the keyboard in sporadic intervals. When he’s not typing, he’s squinting at the computer, lips mouthing out a word here or there, or just opening and closing. Phil’s absolutely _fascinated_ , and he ends up stood in the middle of the lounge for an absurd amount of time; he’s glad Dan’s too focused to properly notice.

He finally pulls his attention away for long enough to settle on the sofa, still with a perfect line of sight to Dan, and he takes a few sips of tea as he watches Dan’s expression shift - Phil finds he’s particularly interested in the crinkles around Dan’s eyes, the way his tongue darts out over his lips every so often, the tiny divot of a dimple in his cheek just before he clicks on something, clearly his little moment of satisfaction at having found what he wanted.

In fact, he finds every single thing he notices about Dan - about his mannerisms and his movements - absolutely incredible, and it’s not long before he’s set his now-empty mug on the table and settled back against the cushions of the sofa, because Dan’s well lost in his task and Phil can just sit here, uninterrupted, and appreciate him for a while.

\--------------------

Phil has absolutely no memory of falling asleep, but he’s pretty sure he’s still in the middle of a dream when he wakes up.

He’s curled into something warm, something _living_ if the soft rise and fall against the side of his head is anything to go by, and there’s a pressure on his arm that says something’s resting there. He feels like he should know what it is, what’s happening, but his brain hasn’t left the foggy haze of sleep yet and he’s not entirely sure he wants it to. Whatever’s going on, it’s nice.

But he must’ve moved or breathed differently or who knows what, because the cocoon wrapped around him shifts, and the pressure on his arm changes into a softer, lighter touch.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Now Phil’s eyes fly open and he allows himself to properly be awake, because he’s got his head on _Dan’s_ chest, and it’s _Dan’s_ arms wrapped around him; he’s sort of cursing himself for falling asleep, for losing the time he had with Dan to dreams. Dan’s far better than any dream he could ever have, except maybe the ones Dan’s actually _in…_

And then there’s a hand carding through his hair, and it’s simple and intimate and sends a shiver down his spine, and he decides there’s _nothing_ quite as good as being with Dan in real life.

Phil opens his mouth, intent on saying something, on responding, but all that comes out is a hoarse cough that leaves him curled deeper into Dan's chest. Really, his body couldn't have picked a worse time to get sick.

"Here, let me- I made some tea, but it's probably gone cold by now." Dan shifts under Phil, so he moves even though he doesn't actually want to. But he supposes he should, and Dan's warmth disappears. Phil rolls over to watch him take a mug from the coffee table and head toward the kitchen, though he's still a little sleep-delirious and wondering why exactly Dan's at his flat.

It takes until the microwave starts beeping for Phil to recall, and then he's scrambling to sit up, searching for his phone. Which, of course, happens to be in his pocket, and he pulls it out and checks the time.

Half eleven, the show's been over nearly thirty minutes now, and he looks back up at a returning Dan with wide eyes. But his throat's dry and sore, so he glances between Dan and the dark computer screen, somehow hoping to convey his question.

Dan doesn't look up until he's nearly back beside Phil and handing over the tea, and wisps of steam drift up between them. Phil's hands curl around Dan's, and he hesitates for a moment before properly taking the mug; his immediate concern fades as the warmth seeps into his fingers, though it’s a poor replacement for the warmth he’d gotten from Dan.

Phil makes a point of scooting over, an invitation for Dan to return. A hope that they can just slip right back into the soft, easy comfort they’d been in when Phil had woken up. He’s sure, now, that the podcast had gone fine, since Dan didn’t wake him. He can let it drift from his mind, let Dan drift back in.

And Dan does, he settles right into the space between Phil and the armrest with a soft smile, and Phil’s about half a second away from leaning into his chest, from recreating the image from a few minutes ago, plus a hot mug of tea.

Until Dan’s legs swing up and into Phil’s lap, effectively caging him in place against the sofa. His arms cross his chest, then, like he’s hugging himself, and Phil has to resist the urge to tell him that _he_ could be the one hugging Dan if only he’d let Phil free. Also he has no voice, which makes it quite a challenge - although the tea does seem to be helping, and he takes another sip.

“The podcast went okay.” Dan says unprompted, though he’s biting his lip in a way that suggests otherwise. Phil's face scrunches on reflex, and he wishes he had the voice to actually ask what happened. But he doesn't.

Instead, he nudges Dan's knee until he looks up from where he'd trained his gaze on his lap.

"No, it really was!" His brows arch up at Phil, and he leans over to wrap his arms around his knees. Which puts his face _right_ in front of Phil's, so close that Phil's dangerously tempted to just lean forward, to steal a kiss even though he's been told he can't. Because he's ill.

He does it anyway, and he's _one centimeter_ from getting away with it, one centimeter from Dan's soft, full lips. One centimeter, and Dan's even let his eyes drift shut, let a breath escape against Phil's mouth, before Dan’s pulled back and gone entirely. If Phil had a voice, he'd have a few choice words right now.

" _Phil_ , I said we can't, I'm not- I don't have _time_ to get sick, I’ve got too much work to do." Dan's leaned against the arm of the sofa, back arched over it and eyes squeezed shut as he talks at the ceiling. Phil's ears perk up, though - it's not that Dan's been _secretive_ , necessarily, but the subject of his job hasn't ever really come up, somehow.

Phil waits, but it seems that’s all Dan’s inclined to give him, so he leans forward to set his mug on the coffee table. Conveniently, he also gets to squish Dan’s legs against his chest for a minute as an added bonus. 

Then he’s leaning sideways on the sofa to grab his phone to type out a question.

_What kind of work?_

He glances over at Dan just as he huffs out a breath at the ceiling. He’s let his eyes shut, and his lips have curled down just the slightest. Phil deletes the message and replaces it with another.

_Do you need to head home? I don’t want to add to your stress_

This one he does show to Dan, poking his leg to get his attention and handing his phone over. Dan frowns at the message for a brief moment before glancing back up at Phil. The way his lip curls speaks of disappointment and apologies, and Phil has to fight the sinking feeling in his chest before Dan’s even said a word.

“Actually, I probably should go. You have to work tomorrow, don’t you?” Phil’s frown deepens, because he does. Dan just nods. “Maybe I could come back for your next podcast? That’s Friday, yeah?” He leans closer as he says it, eyes wide in question; he seems to already know the answer, though, because his grin comes half a second before Phil nods.

“Friday, then.” Dan leans in and brushes a kiss against Phil’s cheek. “ _You’d best not be sick by then_.” He whispers it low in Phil’s ear, and his body flushes with warmth at the implication. 

By the time Phil gets Dan’s text that he’s made it home alright, he’s already tucked himself into bed, intent on getting a good night’s sleep - he’ll be damned if he’s not over this sore throat by the next time he gets to see Dan.


	8. there are only twenty-six letters i can use

The eighth time Phil meets Lift Boy is right outside his door, although he’d actually been expecting the pizza delivery man, so seeing Dan is a bit of a shock.

Especially given Phil’s still in the sweats and t-shirt he’d thrown on fresh out of the shower - he’d really meant to change into something a _little_ nicer for Dan, but he thought he had another fifteen minutes.

Dan, of course, looks as spectacular as ever in a pair of tight, ripped black skinny jeans and another oversized sweater. He seems to be particularly fond of those, not that Phil’s complaining; Dan’s collarbone peeks out from beneath the edge of the fabric, tempting and taunting.

“Okay, I know I’m a bit early, but you’re really not gonna let me in?” Dan’s arms fold over his chest and he tilts his head, brow quirked with joking impatience. Phil, his brain still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in expectations, stumbles back, and Dan steps inside.

For a brief moment as he passes, Dan’s gaze drifts down Phil’s body, and Phil wants to squirm, wants to explain he’d _meant_ to change, but then Dan had shown up and now he’d feel odd getting changed. Besides, Dan would probably feel bad about showing up early, and Phil doesn’t want that - in fact, now that he’s mostly up to speed, he’s quite glad Dan’s here already. That means even more time spent together.

“Wish you’d mentioned we were going casual,” Dan mumbles as he heads toward Phil’s desk and plops down in the chair. “I’d have worn something more comfortable.” He wakes up Phil’s computer like it’s his own, once again surprising Phil at how at home he seems here. 

So when his mouth opens next, it doesn’t say the things he’s been thinking since Dan showed up, things like ‘ _I’d meant to change before you got here_ ’, or ‘ _no, you look great_ ’ or ‘ _hold on, I’ll be ready in just a minute_ ’.

“D’you wanna borrow a pair of my sweatpants?” It says instead, which earns him a lips-parted, brows-lifted sort of look from Dan; his hand stills on the mouse.

“If you want me to take my jeans off, all you have to do is ask, Lester.” Dan smirks over from his chair after a pause, and it’s like he’s taken all his momentary surprise and shifted it over to Phil, because now Phil’s left with a gaping mouth and no words to fill it. ”But yes, that’d actually be great.”

There’s a very long and probably uncomfortable silence, then, when Dan’s just staring and Phil’s not at all sure what to say - possible answers float around in his head, flirty comebacks, clever and suave things, and if he had the time and a keyboard under his fingers, he might come up with something perfect to say. But he doesn’t, because he’s not a character in one of his stories.

“I’ll help myself, then. Bedroom?” Dan asks, and it doesn’t sound rude or annoyed or derisive, so Phil points silently to the half-closed door on the other side of the lounge and watches Dan stand and disappear through it. The light flicks on, illuminating a wedge of space along with just the side of Dan’s leg as he presumably pulls open the drawers of Phil’s dresser.

There’s a moment, then, when Dan shifts until it’s nearly his whole leg visible, when his hand pulls up the hem of his jumper and his thumb tucks under the waistband of his jeans, and Phil tries - _really_ , he does - to look away. He tells himself he shouldn’t stare even if it’s just Dan’s leg and his pants and there’s nothing particularly _risque_ about it because it wouldn’t be fair if Dan didn’t know.

Except he can’t look away, not when Dan’s fingers slide his jeans slowly down, revealing black pants - Phil’s not surprised - and then miles of pale skin down the length of his thigh, down his calf. In spite of the alarm in his head reminding him he _should not be watching_ , he can’t look away, and he finds himself wishing Dan would turn just a bit, just so he could admire his ass while he’s bent over like this. 

And then he finds himself thinking about Dan bent over and with even _less_ on, at which point he promptly tears his gaze away and stares hard at the coffee table. And oh, right, he’s wearing _sweatpants_ , possibly the most _revealing_ choice of clothing, so he rushes around to sit on the sofa to try and hide his growing erection. Now is absolutely _not_ the time.

Dan emerges a moment later, jumper still lifted up around his stomach as he ties the cord on the sweatpants. It’s not something Phil ever does, but he’s immensely glad - and a little frustrated - that Dan’s chosen to do so, as it gives him the perfect view of a strip of Dan’s stomach, of the soft skin just above where the sweatpants settle low on his hips, and it’s every bit as tantalizing as it is dangerous. He’s still not sure he can stand up without Dan realizing where his mind has drifted.

He’s still not sure his mind’s _stopped_ drifting there.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Dan says as he settles back in the office chair, tone dripping with the smirk that Phil can’t see from this angle. Heat floods Phil’s veins, and he’s sure his face turns bright red at the implication that he definitely had _not_ gotten away with his earlier staring.

Dan glances over, then, and Phil ducks his head, as if there’s any possible way he could avoid what Dan’s implying he’d noticed. Apologies form on the tip of his tongue, and his hands find the nearest throw pillow to tug into his lap - partly just to hide the proof of his wandering eyes and mind. His fingers rub at the edge of the pillow to redirect some of his nervous energy.

The chair groans, then, and Phil lets his worries get the best of him - surely, he’d crossed a line, and Dan’s just up and leaving now. He wouldn’t blame him. 

Except a weight settles on the sofa right beside him, warm and reassuring, and Phil glances up to find Dan’s sat there - because who else would it be? - shaking his head and grinning. He nudges his shoulder into Phil’s.

“It was a joke, you idiot, I did it on purpose.” Dan’s laughing, but Phil can’t recall how to do that - his brain’s frozen, his muscles stuck in place. Dan did that _on purpose_?

“You did?” He manages after a few moments of silence, when Dan’s breaths have returned to something quiet and bordering on normal; Phil locks his gaze with Dan’s. For a heartbeat, everything stays utterly still, weighty and heavy, and Phil swallows. Reminds himself to inhale.

Then Dan’s face lights up all at once, giving Phil what he can only describe as _the_ most shit-eating grin he’s ever seen - and having seen Dan’s quite a few times now, that’s certainly saying something. 

Dan’s lips part and a very annoying buzzer sound comes out, and it takes Phil a solid couple seconds of thinking about this strange occurrence - and Dan standing from the sofa - for him to realize that the sound was the _door_ and not Dan, and probably the pizza’s finally arrived.

Since Dan’s already stood up, Phil lets him get the pizza - also because he’s still not completely confident in standing without a pillow protecting his crotch. It’s not easy to clear his mind when, every time he glances over at the waistband of Dan’s sweatpants - or, rather, _Phil’s_ sweatpants hugging Dan’s hips - he’s dragged right back to that image of Dan in the doorway, hands sliding his jeans down his thighs. He’s not sure he can let his mind begin to think about the fact that Dan had done that _on purpose._

A waft of warm, delicious pizza smell and a sharp laugh from Dan pull Phil from his head. He does squish the pillow further into his lap, though. Just in case.

“Did you get the _same_ pizza as last time?” Dan asks on the edge of a chuckle, leaning in to inspect the two halves more closely.

“I- yeah, I mean, we both liked it, I figured-”

“No, no, it’s good, Phil, it’s really good.” Dan cuts him off, and he’s glad for it - he probably shouldn’t have just _assumed_ Dan would be okay with it again, in spite of how he’d reacted whilst eating the pizza last time.

Maybe that was it, his subconscious reason for ordering the same thing: to hear Dan moan over a slice of pizza. 

To wonder if he could make those same sounds fall from Dan’s lips.

But he’s getting ahead of himself, they still have an entire podcast to do, and Phil’s voice is mostly back, so he’s going to actually tell stories tonight. 

\---------------

“That’s the same one you told me.” Dan announces once the mic’s turned off, the moment Phil glances over to gauge Dan’s reaction.

“The same- what?” He’s still a bit lost in the land of his final children’s story for the evening, though he’s already switched over to the tab for his other story he’ll jump into a bit later. He really does need to get back to writing it, though - he’s catching up, and he’d hate to have to postpone it again if he runs out before he can write more.

“Remember I called you the other night and you told me a story? And then you fell asleep?” Dan tilts his head, a smirk on his lips. Phil has the sudden urge to kiss it off.

“Oh! Oh, it was that one?” Honestly, he can’t quite remember - he _had_ fallen asleep, and right at the beginning of Dan’s story. Dan had teased him about it the next morning.

“It was.” Dan shifts so he’s got his legs slung over the arm of the sofa, sweatpants loose in a way that’s strangely inviting. Although Phil can’t say he doesn’t miss the revealing holes of the ripped jeans Dan had arrived in. Really, he’s having a tough time deciding how he likes Dan better.

And then he’s thinking about _how he’d like Dan_ , which spurs on all kinds of thoughts he really needs to reign in. There’s no pillow in his lap to hide whatever arousal might spike through his bloodstream right now.

“Oh.” Phil manages, truly the _epitome_ of eloquence, once he’s finally remembered what Dan had said. Dan just swings his legs back down to the floor and stands, and Phil watches him make his way over to him and the computer.

“So what’s next, then? Music for a bit, then I get to hear your proper story?” He leans on the arm of the chair, gaze fixed on the screen with the next episode of Phil’s ongoing tale. A part of him wants to hide it, maybe in some fear of judgment. As if Dan’s been anything but supportive and full of praise for Phil’s other stories.

“Yeah, but-” a cough interrupts his sentence, “should wait. To hear it?” He manages to get out, though he scoots his chair back and stands, heading for the kitchen and a glass of water. And maybe some tea as well.

“ _You said you were better!_ ” Dan calls behind him, tone full of exasperation. There’s a telltale creak and thump that says Dan’s dropped down in Phil’s place in the chair. Phil lets the water run until he’s got his giant glass full to the brim and takes a few sips.

“I _am_ ,” he says back - his flat really isn’t large enough to warrant Dan’s volume. “Just a tickle.” Which is mostly true, he’s _mostly_ fine, but another full day of talking will definitely put a strain on his barely-healed throat. But he’d wanted Dan to come over, so what’s a little white lie that’s almost true anyway?

“You’d better not be lying to me, Philip.” Dan’s frowning up from Phil’s chair when he returns, arms crossed and brow quirked. Phil’s lips part, then he squishes them together, drops his gaze to his glass of water as he sets it on the desk. He’s not _avoiding_ Dan’s accusation or Dan’s eyes, he’s just… “ _Phil_.” Dan whines, somehow going from sounding like a chastising parent to a petulant child in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m _mostly_ better!” Phil argues, finally looking up to find Dan with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling with his mouth hung open in a sigh. “Just a little scratchy, I’m fine!” Dan doesn’t respond, just grumbles something under his breath that Phil completely misses and pushes himself up from the chair.

Phil watches him stomp off to the kitchen, twisting his lips before he decides it’s best to just settle in the chair and let his voice rest. He’s _pretty_ sure he can get through the entire story, though he’ll likely be relying on that glass of water to keep him audible, but he supposes he can always cut it off early if he really has to. 

The moment he hears Dan return, he frowns - should he apologize for not being totally honest? If he were in Dan’s shoes, he might be annoyed, sure, but Dan seems a touch more frustrated than that. 

“Drink.” He commands over Phil’s shoulder, shoving a steaming mug in his face. A lemony scent drifts up to his nose, and he glances back to find Dan’s lips pressed into a line, his face utterly unreadable. He takes the tea.

“I’m so-”

“ _Shush_.” Dan frowns, crossing his arms. “Save your voice, and I swear to _god_ if you try to push yourself too far I’ll walk out the door.” Phil’s eyes widen, but Dan’s expression doesn’t shift, and Phil can’t really tell if he’s joking or not. So he does as he’s told, taking a sip from the mug and nodding obediently. He’d very much like to explain to Dan that he’s not _that_ sick - overexerting wouldn’t be the end of the world, and he’s definitely on the upswing of whatever’d gotten his throat so sore - but he’s a little afraid to talk again.

Dan frowns, then drops down to the floor beside Phil’s chair.

“ _Don’t talk_ , but you’ll tell me if you need to stop, right?” He’s staring up at Phil now, which leaves him looking _far_ less intimidating, or maybe it’s the way his whole face has softened into something more concerned, more patient. Phil nods on instinct, though he wonders how far Dan would consider ‘too far’. He’s tempted to ask, but he opts for sipping his tea instead. 

Dan nods right back at him, then adjusts his position on the floor. He doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but Phil’s not sure it makes much sense to suggest they swap, not when he’s got - he checks the computer - less than five minutes before he’s meant to be telling his story.

He expects Dan to move once he’s finished the tea, or once he’s started announcing the story, or even once he’s started _telling_ it, but Dan stays sat right beside Phil’s chair. It feels a bit like storytime at the daycare, with Dan as one of the kids sat in a big circle on the floor while he regales them with some fantastical story. But this isn’t fantastical, not really, and Dan’s not a child. He pays rapt attention though, staring wide-eyed up at him every time Phil glances away from his screen.

A part of Phil feels nervous at telling it with Dan there, that potential judgment weighing on him, but Dan’s never been like that before and Phil _knows_ there’s no reason for him to worry about it now. 

It doesn’t stop his nerves from bubbling up the moment he’s ended the episode, though, and switched to a playlist for the remainder of the show. 

“So what happens with Claire?” That’s the first thing from Dan’s mouth when Phil switches off the microphone and reaches for the nearly-empty glass of water. He pauses with it halfway to his lips.

“What- hold on.” He takes a sip, then swallows experimentally - his throat’s a _bit_ sore, but it doesn’t feel like the lasting kind. “What do you mean, what happens?” He asks, and Dan stands from his spot on the floor.

“Well she’s stuck, like you said, in the creepy-ass castle with the shitty prince dude holding her hostage, but Pieter’s like five million miles away in that little town’s jail cell, still, right? It’s obvious he’s planning to come for her, but like. I didn’t sign up to hear creepy prince whatever-his-name-is get to Claire first and go full creep-mode on her. So if that’s where this is headed, I’mma dip.” Dan’s words spill out on what Phil’s sure is a single breath, and he ends his statement with crossed arms and brows arched up his forehead in a silent challenge for Phil to argue.

Phil’s lips curl in a grin, something between a smirk at Dan’s impatience and a proper, genuine smile - clearly, Dan’s gone back and listened to the full story from the start, Phil didn’t even mention Pieter’s whereabouts in this episode.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out like everyone else, won’t you?” Phil takes a bit of pride in the way Dan’s mouth drops open, horror and betrayal written on his face. He shakes his head and mumbles something as he turns back to the sofa, dropping down onto it and staring up at the ceiling. “What was that?” Phil teases, glad to have the upper hand on something like this. He _could_ tell Dan the answer, he knows what happens, of course, but this is much more fun.

“I _said_ what’s the point of dating the author if I don’t get to know everything turns out okay?” Dan grumbles a little louder, and Phil’s pretty sure his heart stops at the word ‘dating’. Like, _sure_ they’ve been on dates and hung out together a lot, and they talk all the time, but they’ve never _actually_ discussed their relationship in such certain terms.

“Well I’ll promise you everything turns out okay.” Phil says, a bit too struck through with sincerity to continue teasing. “But you’ll have to wait to see _exactly_ what happens just like everyone else.” He grins at Dan, deciding maybe he can still tease a _little_.

“Or I could just sneak onto your computer when you’re asleep tonight and read it all.” Dan argues, turning his head to smirk at Phil from the sofa. Phil’s heart stops for the second time in as many minutes.

“You’re...you want to stay over? Tonight?” He can’t help the shock in his tone - it’s not that he _doesn’t_ want that, he just...didn’t plan for it. Didn’t properly consider the possibility. Dan’s eyes go wide, and he shuffles to sit up on the sofa.

“I’m- sorry, yeah, I should’ve- I mean, I was gonna ask, but only if you want, I don’t-”

“O- of course, yeah, I want you to stay!” Phil stumbles out, interrupting Dan’s sputtering before it can get too far. He’d been a bit surprised, sure, but he _very_ much likes the idea of Dan staying over. Dan’s wide eyes and open mouth relax into a soft smile, and a blush colors his face; he turns and mumbles a ‘ _kay_ ’ up at the ceiling, dimple carved deep in his cheek, and Phil has the strange temptation to poke it.

So he stands and makes his way over to the sofa, nudging Dan’s shoulder with his knee until he gets the message to scoot over. Phil somehow manages to squish himself up against Dan, laying face to face with his legs swung over Dan’s and his arm across his waist, and it’s warm and soft and close and he lets himself indulge in that impulse to stick his thumb in Dan’s dimple.

“I’m glad you want me to stay,” Dan says as his grin widens, and Phil’s finger falls deeper into the divot in his cheek.

Phil’s pretty sure he’s falling deeper as well.


	9. you come around, i come undone

“Do you have a spare toothbrush as well? I’m sorry, I really didn’t- I _literally_ didn’t think any of this through.” Dan’s pulling open drawers in the bathroom, Phil can hear it from where he’s sat on his bed, but he kind of just wants to let Dan keep searching. He’ll find one eventually, Phil’s got a few somewhere, and he feels a bit strange trying to respond with such a wide grin on his face.

Plus, he’d coughed a couple times earlier, right after signing off from the show, and Dan’s been ruthless about him preserving his voice since.

“Sorry, just found one, don’t talk! Don’t-” He breaks off mid sentence and the tap turns on, and Phil flops back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. He figures he ought to get all his silly grinning in now before Dan finishes up so he doesn’t look like such a lovesick fool.

Not that it’s _love_ , it’s probably a bit soon to call it that, but he definitely feels like it’s _something_. Something like butterflies in his chest, like being smothered in puppies, like being stuck on a lift that’s perpetually falling. It feels like a _lot_ , and he’s terrified and exhilarated and still a bit in disbelief over it. Dan, _Dan_ , likes him? Wants to spend time with him? _Stay the night_?

“Okay, I’m minty, time to sleep because I swear to _god_ if you’re still sick tomorrow, if you pushed yourself-” Dan’s already ranting as he walks through the door and into Phil’s room, and somehow that makes Phil’s smile widen even further. He’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be possible to feel this happy and light.

“I’m _fine_ , Dan,” Phil argues, looking down from the ceiling to stare at him. Dan’s got pursed lips and arms crossed over his chest - his _bare_ chest, because apparently he prefers not to sleep with a shirt on. Phil’s the same way, and he’s certainly not complaining. 

“ _Phil_ you sound like a dying horse, _stop talking_.” His tone drips exasperation and something _almost_ like scolding, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark. Phil just shakes his head and drops it back to the mattress. His cheeks hurt from grinning. 

Dan huffs out a breath, then he’s suddenly closer, looming over the side of the bed and quirking a brow at Phil.

“What, you’re sleeping like that, are you?” Phil makes a point of spreading his limbs out to encompass as much of the mattress as he can; Dan pokes his leg. “I mean, I guess that sofa was _okay_ , I could _probably_ …” Dan trails off, turning away, and Phil _knows_ it’s just a joke but it doesn’t stop him from sitting up so fast his head spins and grabbing Dan’s arm, tugging him back and onto the bed.

And _maybe_ he pulls a bit hard, but it’s worth Dan’s sudden stumbling and falling, worth the crash of bodies as Dan lands heavily on top of him, worth the rush of air out of his lungs and onto Dan’s lips because he’s suddenly _right there_ , wide brown eyes staring down at him. It’s silly, Phil thinks, because they’ve already _been_ this close before. Maybe Dan wasn’t half naked, and maybe Phil wasn’t either, but they’ve technically already been here. 

None of his attempted logic stops Phil’s heart racing, though.

“You _promise_ you’re not sick?” Dan’s voice sounds incredibly soft, incredibly close, and the vibration of his chest against Phil’s sends his heart rate absolutely skyrocketing. He’s fairly certain he’d collapse if he weren’t already on the bed. Then he’s fairly certain he’s overreacting, because this is a perfectly normal situation to be in! And he’s practically dying because of it!

In place of a response, Phil just nods. Partly because he knows if he tries to speak, it’ll sound hoarse and scratchy and completely ruin his point, and partly because he’s not sure his brain is capable of forming words right now. Dan’s lips turn up in a soft smile, then they disappear, too close for Phil to see properly. So he shuts his eyes and waits, and Dan tastes delicious and smooth and sweet and reminds him of a minty version of the caramel macchiatos they had the other day. 

Although, he decides yet again, he was right in thinking that Dan tastes far better.

He lets his hands rest against Dan’s back, press him just that tiny bit closer as the gentle, unhurried kisses turn hotter, deeper. They don’t speed up, though, and Dan’s hand matches the slow pace as he slides it up into Phil’s hair, tugs lightly, just enough to encourage Phil closer. As if they’re not literally as close as the laws of physics would allow. With clothes on.

Phil tries, _really_ he does, not to let his mind get ahead of them, but now he’s thinking about _how_ they could get closer; his arms wrap tighter around Dan’s back, and Dan hums into Phil’s lips. It seems Dan’s already a step ahead, the fingers of his free hand finding the waistband of Phil’s sweatpants and dipping below for just a moment before returning to the skin at his stomach.

Then Dan pulls away. Sort of. 

“We really should sleep,” he says against Phil’s mouth, and Phil lifts his head just slightly, just enough to nip at the pout of Dan’s lower lip. Dan lets himself be dragged back in, but only for a moment, then he’s gone again. “ _Really_ , you need to recover.” He sounds just as thrilled about the prospect as Phil feels, but Phil lets his arms relax the moment Dan tugs against them to climb off him and stand.

“Think I’ll be alright, I’ve got til Monday.” Phil argues, though there’s no real fight in it and it ends up sounding more plaintive than anything. He lets his head fall to the side to watch Dan, who’s taken to pulling the corner of the duvet in what appears to be a misguided attempt at getting Phil to move. Which Phil doesn’t feel very inclined to do. He reaches out with grabby hands. “Come back?”

“ _Phil_.” Dan drops his head back, abandoning his attempt at whatever he’d been doing with the covers. “ _You_ may have a whole weekend, but I can’t get sick, I’ve got-”

“Work?” Phil interrupts, curiosity sparking in his chest at the subject. He props himself up on an elbow to look at Dan properly. 

“Work.” Dan agrees, though his lips have twisted into something Phil can’t quite decipher, and he’s now focused on the duvet. “Uh, yeah, I’ve got work tomorrow afternoon. And Sunday. Can’t afford to be sick.” He won’t look up, and Phil can’t decide whether he ought to push it or not. But Dan’s never purposely kept something important from him, as far as he’s aware, so he takes a breath and puts his trust in Dan and scoots to the end of the bed.

“Okay.” It’s all he says, because he’s sure if he says more, his curiosity will get the best of him and he’ll pry and probably push Dan away. Dan’s given him no reason not to trust him thus far.

Phil stands from the mattress, doing his best to project a sort of ‘everything’s okay, don’t worry I’m not bothered’ feeling in the hopes that Dan will relax. Which he doesn’t - even as he slides under the duvet, he looks stiff, face squished up in something like concern or discomfort, Phil’s not entirely sure which.

But sometimes people need silence, need some mental space to figure things out, and Phil can give Dan that. He’s not sure the same need applies to _physical_ space, though. Unless Dan asks for it, of course.

Phil slips under the covers himself, then scoots over to where Dan’s curled up at the very edge of the bed.

“You haven’t asked.” Dan says just as Phil’s hand lands on his arm - he wants to give him the chance to say no, if he needs to be alone. A shock sparks through him just then, that maybe Dan will change his mind about staying over and want to leave, but it’s quickly replaced by a calm curiosity. Only calm because he feels he _needs_ to be, needs to balance Dan out - his muscles feel tense under Phil’s fingertips.

“About?” Dan hasn’t shoved him off yet, so he scoots a bit closer, lets his hand slip under Dan’s arm and over his chest. Dan doesn’t push him away, but he doesn’t make any move to acknowledge Phil’s presence either.

“What I do.” It’s what Phil expected him to say, but he has to take a steadying breath anyway. He blows it out slowly, against the back of Dan’s neck, and waits. And decides. A part of him wants to ask now, because Dan’s given him an open invitation, practically _told_ him to ask. But the other part, the part that’s maybe a bit smarter than he usually gives himself credit for, tells him not to. Tells him to be patient instead.

“Figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.” He finally says, and he hopes his voice comes out patient and understanding and not at all passive aggressive - he _does_ want Dan to tell him, but in his own time and on his own terms, not because he feels pressured to. Of that, Phil’s absolutely certain.

Before Dan can respond, Phil pulls himself closer, until he’s pressed against Dan’s back and holding him tight. He needs Dan to understand that it doesn’t _matter_ , whatever he’s worried about mattering. Phil supposes Dan could be a stripper or hooker or something that might affect their relationship directly, and...if he’s honest, the idea makes his chest cave in, but he likes Dan for _Dan_ , and whatever he does for work, that’s a part of Dan. 

He presses a kiss to the back of Dan’s neck, and he can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against his hands, but Dan doesn’t speak. In fact, he doesn’t speak for so long that Phil wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. He’s about to explain, to say all the thoughts whirring in his head that he’s pretty sure will just make things worse but the silence has gotten _really_ loud and he’s not sure what to say, he’s not sure what to _do_ , what Dan wants-

“Can you tell me a story?” His voice comes out soft and careful and so fragile it sounds like he’s a second away from breaking. Phil hugs him tighter, as if he could somehow hold all the pieces together, keep Dan’s worry at bay with not-very-strong arms and a kid’s story. Show how little he cares about Dan’s job and how much he cares about _Dan_.

So he racks his brain for something better than his usual stories, something _more_. Something that makes _him_ feel safe, or did when he was a kid and things scared him. He comes round to a story he’s not sure he’s _ever_ told, but it’s silly and absurd and maybe it can make Dan laugh. Or at least smile. 

“A long time ago-”

“In a galaxy far, far away?” Dan interrupts, and Phil can hear the smirk without even seeing it. He supposes he’s off to a good start.

“ _No_.” He pokes into Dan’s chest with his finger, and Dan grabs at Phil’s wrist and flinches back further into him. “Let me tell it!” 

“Alright, alright, go on.” Dan’s still chuckling, but he’s got his arm resting over Phil’s now and he feels less stiff, less tense.

“ _A long time ago_ there was an operative from MI6 sent on a mission - his archnemesis, an assassin, had finally been spotted in a small town outside Manchester, and he’d been tasked with taking him down. So he’d packed up all his fancy gear, all his best disguises, and shipped out, rented a tiny flat in a large building where his intel had suggested the assassin was staying.

And there he waited, he waited for _six months_ in that building, set up bugs in every corridor and even ordered specially-built equipment to monitor and search for the assassin. After a month of this, he’d taken up a casual nine-to-five to keep up appearances, taking the odd day off here or there to do a scan of the empty building.

Because surely, _surely_ the assassin couldn’t stay hidden so well for so long?” Dan’s body’s gone tense under Phil’s hands again, and he’s not entirely sure the story really warrants that but-

Then he’s wondering if Dan’s secret job is that _he’s_ an assassin, which doesn’t frighten Phil probably as much as it should. Perhaps due to the nature of his story, which he figures he ought to get on with so he can reassure Dan that he doesn’t think poorly of assassins. At least, not the nice ones.

“The spy had to keep reporting back on his failure, until MI6 eventually started to consider pulling him. But he insisted he stay, just a little longer, because the intel was good and the assassin would _surely_ turn up. How could he not? The building wasn’t infinitely large, so it was just a matter of time.

But, see, the spy was looking for the wrong things - he was looking for illicit behavior, guns hidden in obscure places, midnight rendezvous with suspicious persons, the whole lot. What he _wasn’t_ looking for...was _bees_.”

Phil pauses here, hoping for a bit of a surprised reaction from Dan, a confused exclamation of ‘ _bees?_ ’ perhaps. But there’s nothing, not that he can tell from here, so he presses on. At the very least, Dan seems to have calmed down, his breathing not quite so fast and hard as it was before.

“Because, you see, the assassin was _also_ a beekeeper.” Again, he waits for a moment, and this time he’s rewarded with a bit of a chuckle, which he supposes is a good enough sign to go on. “The assassin heard talk of a rare breed of honeybee, one that produced some special kind of honey that sold for millions on the black market because of some rumor about its healing properties and the bees were endangered. The assassin figured he could nab this hive and make his fortune that way, get out of the killing business for good.

So he’d made his way out there, to the outskirts of Manchester, tracked these bees all the way to the very same building the spy was searching for him in, only to get stuck. Because the bees, they belonged to a very fussy woman with a very fussy dog. The dog, as it turned out, had a rare and dire condition that some chemical compound in this special honey happened to keep at bay. 

And that’s where the assassin got stuck - make his millions by stealing this hive, but condemn the dog to a short and miserable life? Or let the dog live, but lose out on the chance of a lifetime? 

Now, in spite of being an assassin, he wasn’t all that bad a guy.” Phil pauses again, lets his thumb rub over a spot on Dan’s chest. Dan’s stopped laughing, at least, and seems well enraptured in the story. It’s a bit ridiculous, he knows, but it’s all about disrupting expectations and treating people with kindness and he thinks maybe it’s an even more appropriate choice than he’d initially thought. 

“But he figured he could just steal some of that honey, sell it, make enough for a comfortable living, and then the dog would be fine. And in spite of the spy doing his best to try to find the assassin, the assassin managed to miss him _every single day_ , just by arriving home a bit later, leaving a bit earlier, and focusing on the bees.” He stops here even though it’s not quite an ending, because he isn’t sure how the story actually ends. He’s never found out himself.

Dan’s quiet for a moment, utterly still in Phil’s arms.

“The dog ate the _bees_ , actually.” Dan’s voice comes out soft and cautious, unsure. Phil just stares at the back of his head, at a loss for any kind of response. How had Dan guessed that? He didn’t want to say that - the ‘eating the bees’ thing sounded too childish, too unrealistic, but Dan’s right, that’s how the story was told to him way back-

“ _No_.” Surely that’s not possible. Dan can’t be-

“I mean, it’s _my_ story, I think I know what I said.” Dan huffs out a breath that sounds like some strange mix of humor and nerves, but Phil’s still stuck in ‘ _it can’t be_ ’ land.

Apparently, he stays stuck long enough to warrant concern, as Dan’s soon shifting in his limp grip, turning around to face him.

“Phil?”

“How’d you know it was me?” That’s the only question he can properly wonder, the only one of thousands floating around in his head that feels solid enough to grab onto and put out into the air between them. Dan’s lips twist, and at first Phil thinks it’s the kind that says he’s about to say something bad, but then it’s that trying-not-to-smile kind and it makes Phil want to smile as well.

“You look the same,” Dan says, and the words melt into a laugh as Phil’s eyebrows lift - he looks _nothing_ like he did back then, his hair’s all a different color and style, he’s six feet tall, there’s no _way_ that’s how Dan recognized him. “Okay, okay.” It’s a tone of admission, the same one when he’d said his name was _technically_ Daniel, a half-truth hidden among the words. “Your eyes, they’re the same.” 

Dan’s hand drifts up between them, settles on Phil’s cheek, and his thumb rubs across the ridge of Phil’s cheekbone. Phil’s quite certain he’s still not blinked.

“Plus I saw you and just wanted to tell you stories, the fantastical kind that make no sense.” His lips tug down, though. “Are you mad?” That snaps Phil out of his realm of shock and into the present, where Dan’s staring at him with wide brown eyes and his hand resting on Phil’s cheek and his body pressed close to Phil’s and-

“How could I be _mad_?” He feels a bit like he’s been thrown into the ocean with no flotation device, sure, but Dan’s _right there_ , solid and real and making him feel like he’s flying so what does it really matter? His hand drifts up to rest over Dan’s, to hold it tighter to his cheek. He’s well aware his face has broken out into a bright grin, pressing hard against Dan’s hand, but it doesn’t matter. 

Some strange twisting turning path life’s taken him on has brought him back to Dan, or maybe it brought Dan to him, but either way, he’s got Dan, how could he be anything but thrilled?


	10. hoping for the right words

Phil wakes slowly, or at least it feels slow. Slow and soft and with this strange sense of crystal clarity - it feels a bit like waking from a dream that he’s not entirely sure was a dream, that felt so immensely real that he’s questioning whether or not he slept at all.

But he feels quite refreshed, and he’s got a whole free day ahead of him; his mind is buzzing with stories and the anxious desire to get writing, so he thinks perhaps today he’ll get quite a lot done. But first, breakfast.

Or maybe first just a little more laying in bed - there’s no rush, not today.

He rolls over on his pillow so he’s facing away from his window, letting the white walls diffuse the morning light seeping through the curtains and into the room, but he sucks in a breath the moment he’s turned.

 _Dan’s_ there, the very same Dan who’d asked to spend the night. The very same Dan he’d met years and years and years ago in the lift of his childhood home. The same Dan he thought he’d never see again.

 _His_ Dan.

Now that he’s looking for it, Phil can see the resemblance - the soft features, the wide brown eyes now closed in sleep. The _dimples_ , how could he have not recognized those? A sleepy grin tugs at Phil’s cheeks as he stares.

Dan’s curled himself into his pillow, arms wrapped around it the same way Phil’s had been around Dan last night. He’s got his head tucked so it’s still resting on the edge, and Phil can’t decide if he looks comfortable or not. It does seem like a bit of an awkward position. 

Before he can properly analyze, Dan sucks in a slow, deep breath through his nose, and Phil waits for him to open his eyes.

Except he doesn’t, and Phil wonders if he’s even actually woken up. His features stay serene and smooth for another few moments, long enough that Phil’s convinced Dan’s still asleep, before Dan squints an eye open.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles, and his lips press into a line that accentuates his dimple. Phil’s grin brightens.

“I am,” he acknowledges, lifting his hand to poke at that dimple. Dan just buries his face into the pillow, squeezing it tighter.

“ _Quit it_.” His words barely make it to Phil’s ears, but they _do_ and Phil fears he’s drifted into lovesick fool territory again. If he ever left.

“Don’t think I will.” He giggles through the words, through Dan’s subsequent groan, then scoots himself closer to the pillow separating them and wraps his arms around it and Dan. Dan peeks back up, and Phil takes the opportunity to press a kiss to the side of his head. “ _I missed you_.” He mumbles it into Dan’s hair, all fluff and curls tickling his nose as he does it. It’s warm, Dan’s warm, and the sleep-worn musky smell of _Dan_ makes the warmth spread through Phil’s chest and out to his fingertips. He trails them up Dan’s arm.

“ _Missed_ me?” Dan huffs out a breath of laughter into the pillow, still half-buried there, though Phil can see the side of his smile. “We were _sleeping_ , you can’t have missed me.” He says it like it’s the most absurd thing in the world, like _Phil’s_ the most absurd thing. As if Phil’s not thinking the same of Dan, for remembering after all these years, for _recognizing_ him.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“We were _asleep_ , you spork, it’s-”

“No, when you left.” He cuts Dan off mid-sentence - even what feels like a million years later, he remembers how hard it’d hit him, when Dan said his family was moving to London. It hadn’t felt _real_ at first, he recalls, but then it’d been like the entire world had fallen down around him, or maybe like he had been falling while the rest of the world stood still.

It’d felt exactly how he imagined he’d feel in a free-falling lift, careening toward certain doom. It’d felt like the end, even though he’d survived.

But he was young, his only friend had been dragged away from him, of course he felt lost at the time.

“You didn’t even know me, though. You didn’t even know my _name_ ,” Dan argues, but his cheeks have turned pink in the soft morning light and his dimple hasn’t left that spot beside his lips. Phil leans in again to kiss it.

“Sure I did,” he argues right back, but Dan just huffs out a breath. It sounds disbelieving, even though they’re here, together again after nearly twenty years. Even though the whole thing’s entirely unbelievable. “I knew I liked you, I knew we were friends, I knew _you_. What does a name matter?” He’s let his head fall onto the pillow just under Dan’s chin, so he can’t see Dan’s expression, but he’s gone very silent and Phil hopes he hasn’t said something wrong.

Neither of them moves for a while, Dan curled around his pillow and Phil curled around them both. But then Phil feels Dan shift, feels his lips press against Phil’s forehead.

“ _I missed you too_.”

\-----------

Dan insists he can’t stay for breakfast - or, really, a late lunch at this point, nearly two in the afternoon - as he’s got to get to work.

“Rain check?” He asks as he slips his shoes on, and Phil lets his gaze drag up the length of Dan’s legs, mostly covered by the ripped black jeans he’d arrived in. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Phil blows out on a falsely exasperated breath, glancing up to find Dan’s head tilted and his lips twisted in an almost-frown. “Really, it’s fine,” he assures Dan. Of course Phil would rather he stay, but if Dan needs to go, he understands. Much as he would love it, they can’t - and _shouldn’t_ \- spend every single second together.

“Your next podcast, it’s on Tuesday?” Dan asks, his hand resting on the doorknob. Phil grins.

“Yeah, same time. You’ll be here?” Phil asks, and Dan grins right back at him. Before he can turn the handle, walk out the door and head off to who-knows-what job he has, Phil steps forward and wraps him in a hug. Dan’s arms hover for a second before squeezing Phil around his middle, tight and secure, like he’s afraid to let go. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dan says into the crook of Phil’s neck, his breath tickling the skin and making Phil’s heart burst with lightness. 

As soon as he’s left, Phil makes himself some toast and sits down at his computer - he’s now down to only a single episode before he’s run out of story to tell, and he doesn’t want to leave his readers hanging. 

The screen flicks to life as he takes a bite of his probably-too-buttery toast, already up and on the document he’d left open from last night. He scrolls through what he’s got left, his lip curling into a grin at the hints of sexual tension he’s slipped in - he’s hoping it’s not _too_ unexpected, given the nature of all his previous stories, but he does still want it to be a _little_ surprising. 

It’s been a while since he’s written a good enemies-to-lovers trope.

\-----------

By the time the sun’s started setting, Phil finds himself blowing out a frustrated breath at the bright white of his screen - he’s never had _this_ much trouble writing before. It’s not even writer’s block, probably, because he knows the words he wants to write and he’s mostly able to put them down, but he finds himself second-guessing every line, every innuendo, every moment of introspection on the characters’ parts.

For the first time, he _knows_ his audience. Someone he sees in person, someone he likes - hell, maybe even _loves_ , if he’s willing to let himself think too much on it - will hear this story, judge him on it, have real actual thoughts and opinions to voice back to Phil. And although Dan had seemed well enticed by the plot and Phil’s writing so far, what if he doesn’t like the next part?

What if he hates that the hero and villain get together? That the villain will have some redemption arc? He’d made his distaste for Prince Rowan quite obvious last night, and Phil’s sort of terrified that this change will disappoint Dan.

Just then, as if summoned by Phil’s worries, his phone lights up with a text from none other than the man he’s suddenly so desperate to impress.

**Dan: __**_how’s writing?_

Phil chews on his lip, trying to decide how to respond. Vent his worries? Say things are going great? His chair creaks as he leans back and takes a deep breath.

 **Phil:** _Slower than I hoped but good I think?_

It’s true enough, he supposes. He scans through the last few lines he’s managed to get down - they’re _probably_ good, right? Dan will _probably_ like them, right?

**Dan: __**_sorry it’s slow but glad it’s maybe good?_

**Phil: __**_How’s work?_

He hits send before he can think too hard on it - it’s a pretty open question, Dan has room to answer however he wants. He can be vague if he wants. Phil tries not to hope too hard that Dan _won’t_ be vague, that he’ll go into details about what he’s doing, about how he likes whatever it is, about whether or not he’s an assassin.

Phil’s _pretty_ sure he’s not, but he’d definitely like to know. Curiosity has started to prickle at the back of his mind.

He stares at his phone for far longer than he probably should, long enough that he has to remind himself to blink, but it still won’t light up. With a sigh, he sets it back beside his long-empty plate. As if triggered by the idea of food, his stomach growls, and he checks the time in the corner of his screen.

It’s nearly half-eight, and Phil’s brows quirk up - he hadn’t realized he’d been sat at his computer for so long, but the moment he notices, all his aching joints become painfully obvious, his eyes feel bleary from staring at the screen for so long, and his stomach begs again for something to fill it.

It’s not til he’s ordered some Chinese - and some proper groceries, he decides it’s best if he doesn’t live strictly off toast and takeaway - that he returns to his document to reread the miniscule two pages he’s spent nearly six hours writing.

Dan’s wormed his way into Phil’s head, though, and he rereads line after line and wonders what Dan would think, wonders if he’d like the direction things are headed for Pieter and Rowan. _Then_ he wonders if _Dan_ would like where things are headed, if it were Dan. If he and Phil were characters in this story, would Dan like the way a hand grips his hair? Would he like it a little rough, to be pressed hard against a wall in a too-intense moment? Would it get to him the same way it gets to Phil, just the idea of him and Dan in place of the characters he’s created?

\----------

Phil writes until two in the morning - he doesn’t notice, once again, that so much time has passed, not until he’s glaring down the final line of the fourth episode he’s written. It seems realistic enough, the drawn-out tension that’s led to this scene, to the hero and villain finally _finally_ breaking past those boundaries for a heated makeout session that lands them both on a bed in a spare room that’ll play a part in the next episode.

It’s about then that Phil remembers the existence of...well, _everything_. The real world. His phone, which he clicks on to find three missed messages, all from Dan.

**Dan: __**_it’s okay_

**Dan: __**_sorry was busy for a bit_

**Dan: __**_please don’t be mad_

The last one’s timestamped nearly an hour ago, though the first looks to be only an hour before that. Phil swallows thickly.

**Phil: __**_Why would I be mad??? You were working, I get it_

He can hardly be annoyed with Dan for not responding for so long when he’d been entirely preoccupied himself, but even if he’d been anxiously awaiting a response, Dan’s his own person with his own life and he shouldn’t feel bad for living it.

**Dan: __**_idk guess i just felt bad? can’t believe ur still awake_

Phil huffs out a breath of laughter - it _is_ quite late for him, even for a weekend, but he’d been inspired and he knows from experience that it’s better to take the motivation when he can get it. His joints ache like mad, and he laments even the _idea_ of standing up, but there’s a stack of messy takeaway cartons on his desk and his bed’s calling his name.

 **Phil:** _Me either haha. Writing got the best of me, I guess. I should sleep now, though_

It’s not til he’s tucked under his covers that he gets another response from Dan.

**Dan: __**_if you must. can’t wait to see what you wrote though ;)_

Phil sucks in a breath - he won’t show Dan yet, of course, because he _will_ make Dan wait like everyone else, but all his worries surge back in. Especially now that he _knows_ how he got these past four chapters of confused pining and sexual frustration and hot tension out onto the page: by imagining it as him and Dan. He wonders if Dan will figure it out, once he hears it. 

He can’t decide whether he’d rather Dan does or not, but both prospects set his heart racing; he has a hard time falling asleep.


	11. every time i think of you

“I can’t believe you made me wait _four whole days_ to find out what happens next.” Dan’s literally whining _as he walks through the door_ , but all Phil can do is smile fondly. It quickly evolves into a nervous smile, though, when he remembers what happens this episode: the first glimpse of Rowan, the villain, having feelings for Pieter.

Dan’s clad in his own sweatpants this time, along with a massive t-shirt that looks more like pajamas than anything. All Phil can think about is getting him into bed - to _snuggle_ with him, because he looks so cosy, and that’s it. Definitely all. His mind is _not_ wandering anywhere else right now. 

“I’m making you wait another few hours as well, think you can handle it?” Phil teases as he makes his way to the kitchen - he’d insisted on something homemade, and Dan had agreed, proclaiming that the pizza should be for special occasions only, and eating it too often would ruin it. A part of Phil wanted to agree, but the other part - the one still a slave to the greasy deliciousness - had rebelled.

So there’s a middle ground they’d settled on with a stir fry, something still flavorful enough to satisfy his pizza-starved heart while being a bit healthier. He’s just about finished with it, mixing around the ingredients in the pan as they begin to get those golden-brown edges. He dumps half of it into a bowl, then adds a bit of chicken for himself. Apparently, Dan’s ‘sort of vegan’ sometimes - Phil hadn’t pretended to understand what that meant, exactly, but it doesn’t mean he can’t support it.

“‘ _You pathetic wastrel, don’t you dare complain over a nice, clean bed and fresh clothes!’_ ” Phil hears Dan’s voice over the sizzle of the food, and it takes him a moment to recognize the words. The ones that are _very much_ not from Dan’s brain, but from Phil’s.

“Hey! You can’t-” Phil turns the hob off and rushes from the kitchen to find Dan sat cross-legged in the computer chair, elbows on the desk and chin resting on his hands as he reads another few lines aloud.

“ _Claire scowls at Rowan, a look he’s far too familiar with. But she should be grateful, shouldn’t she? Anywhere else, she’d be left to rot in a dank prison cell._ ” Dan continues, and Phil finds himself frozen - he _knows_ Dan’s always a bit dramatic, but he’s got Rowan’s indignation spot on, the subtle tone of confusion hidden behind the words comes through with just enough clarity. It’s sort of exactly how he’d imagine Rowan thinking it, were he a real person instead of a character in Phil’s story.

“That was good.” Those are the only words Phil can think of, suddenly at a loss for anything articulate. Dan glances back over his shoulder, cheeks dusted with pink. He dips his head, huffs out a breath.

“Can’t believe you used the word ‘dank’, shit choice mate,” Dan mumbles, and an idea forms in Phil’s head. Maybe a bad one, or self-indulgent, but now it’s there and he’s got maybe just enough bravery to ask.

“Do you want to read Rowan’s parts?” He blurts out, and Dan’s head whips back up. His fingers grip the armrests of the chair as he adjusts in the seat.

“Like, before you read it in the show?” His lips twist, and his tone sounds like he _knows_ what Phil’s asking.

“Like _in_ the show. I’ll read Claire’s and Pieter’s,” of which Phil knows there’s quite a lot more than Claire’s, “and you can read Rowan’s?” Dan sucks in a breath. “But only if you want! Just...you were good at it.” Phil hopes it’s enough of an explanation for the sudden rush of desire coursing through his veins - he practically _needs_ Dan to play Rowan. Needs to hear Dan put his voice to all those silly little fantasies Phil had imagined whilst writing. Needs to see if Dan _likes_ it.

“I’m- uh, I could, if you want me to?” Dan’s curled himself up into the seat, hugging his knees to his chest, but there’s a little smile playing at the corner of his lips and Phil’s pretty sure he wants to be a part of it.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.” Phil chuckles through the words, a little of his own tension dissolving at Dan’s response. “Food’s ready?” Dan grins wide at this, his limbs unfolding from the chair to stand and make his way to the kitchen.

\-----------

It’s not til they’re full of stir fry and about one minute out from starting the show that Phil realizes he should _probably_ mention where this narrative is headed, if Dan’s going to read - even if it’s just this episode, he doesn’t want Dan caught entirely off guard. Or worse, for Dan to feel uncomfortable.

“So, uh, about the story…” Phil starts, already feeling his stomach twist at the thought of Dan backing out. Which he has every right to do, Phil reminds himself, but he’s very much hoping Dan doesn’t.

“If you don’t want me to-”

“No! No, it’s not- hold on, uh-” He stands from his spot on the floor by the coffee table, twisting his lips at Dan before he hurries over to the computer to get the stream started. “After the kids stories?” He glances over to find Dan’s brows furrowed at him, but he offers a nod and it’s just in time for Phil to start his standard intro.

\---------

“ _Off?_ ” Dan mouths when Phil glances over, and he nods. “Okay, what was it, then?” He glances back down to his plate, maneuvering a lone slice of onion into various shapes. “You can say if you changed your mind about me reading, y’know.” It’s said so softly that Phil’s not sure he heard right, except Dan’s curled in on himself again and Phil can understand body language well enough.

“I told you, you read it really well, I _want_ you to, if you still want, I just- I feel like I have to explain first? What happens?” Dan lifts his head, then, his lips pressed into a line - there’s a lingering indent of a dimple in his cheek, but it’s just barely there and Phil can’t quite tell if he’s holding back a smile or a grimace.

“Well?” Dan prods, setting his fork on the plate with a clink. “Are you actually gonna tell me or…?”

“Uhm...” Phil hesitates, nervous again at the prospect of Dan disliking this turn of events. “It’s- well, the story, sort of takes a- like, things _change_ , you might not expect-”

“Spit it out, man!” Dan huffs out a breath of laughter, but all Phil’s words feel stuck in his throat - remarkable how inarticulate he can be when faced with the actual _need_ to be articulate. Or even to just form full sentences.

“It’s gay! The- uh, it’s not Claire and Peiter that get together,” he finally sputters out, and Dan’s eyes widen.

“Phil...not sure if this occurred to you or not, but I’m not exactly _straight…_ ” He leans back, props his elbows on the cushion of the sofa behind him. “So who is it, then?” Dan’s lips curl into a smirk, like he’s managed to surprise Phil with his nonchalance about the matter.

“Uh, it’s...it’s Pieter and _Rowan_.” This earns Phil a gaping mouth, wide eyes, a muttered ‘oh’. Phil thinks if Dan were a robot of some kind, Phil would be able to see the gears whirring inside Dan’s head, see him thinking and processing and deciding on his reaction. Phil hopes it’s not a bad one - memories flash in his head of Friday, of Dan saying he’d walk right out if things didn’t end up ‘okay’. He’s sure it was a joke, but his hand finds the edge of his own t-shirt and rubs at the hem.

“You _want_ me to read the Rowan parts.” Dan finally looks up from his plate, brows lifted high on his forehead. Phil’s not entirely sure he follows, but Dan’s smile widens and Phil’s entire body heats - _surely_ he hadn’t figured Phil out _that_ quickly?

“I’m- you’re good at it! Getting the, uh, emotions right-”

“The _emotions_ , uh huh.” Dan’s got that shit-eating grin again, though Phil’s not sure he’s so in love with it now that it’s got him pegged like this. Phil feels nothing less than exposed. “You just want me to play out your fantasy, don’t you?” Dan says as he stands and takes slow, lazy steps over to where Phil’s sat in his chair. 

“I’m not- it wasn’t- I mean, I didn’t- _you_ read it!” Phil accuses, the only threadbare defense he has against Dan’s completely true accusations. At least he doesn’t seem _upset_ as he looms over Phil, leans in until his lips are mere inches from Phil’s.

“And _you_ asked me to read.” Phil leans forward just a bit, hoping Dan will do the same, close the gap between them. As if they have _time_ for that - a spark of concern flashes through his chest, and his eyes flick to the corner of the computer screen. They’re down to a minute before he’ll be reading. Before _they’ll_ be reading, if Dan agrees.

Dan follows his gaze before turning back to Phil with a wicked smirk.

“Hope you can handle what you wrote for me, Philip.”

Phil swallows against a lump in his throat, pushes back the desperate urge to kiss the words from Dan’s lips. He clicks to turn the mic on, effectively cutting Dan off from any more torturous implications.

“Right, uh, thanks for tuning in. Now, uh, continuing the story from last time, where we left Claire in Prince Rowan’s castle and Pieter towns away but coming to her rescue. And, uh, this week, I’ve got with me a special guest, Dan Ho-”

Phil’s cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth, and he turns to find Dan wide-eyed and shaking his head. Confusion swirls in Phil’s gut, but he can ask questions later, he supposes. Dan bites his lip and waits for a moment before removing his hand, and Phil nods.

“Right, uh, Dan. Dan will be reading with me tonight.” Phil doesn’t say ‘for the rest of the story’ even though he’d like to, he thinks. Even though the idea of that much torture sets his heart racing - the idea of what Dan might want to do…

“‘ _You pathetic wastrel, don’t you dare complain over a nice, clean bed and fresh clothes!’_ ” Dan reads, just as emphatically as he had before, and Phil drags his focus back to the present. 

\--------------

Torture. Pure torture.

Dan’s literally eye-fucking him with every single line, and every subtle implication he’d written for Rowan spills from Dan’s lips with _intent_. He should’ve known, he reasons, but there’s some saying floating around about love being blind and he’s almost certain it applies here.

“ _Rowan doesn’t dare let Pieter past him, knife pointed at him or not. He doesn’t dare allow Claire to be rescued._ ” Dan’s taken on a bit of an accent, some odd mix between his native southern British and something almost Scottish, though Phil’s not sure if he’s noticed.

“ _Pieter takes a step forward, something he hopes is menacing enough - he doesn’t want a fight, he may hate the prince but there’s no reason to draw blood. The bastard doesn’t move, though he doesn’t draw a weapon either. Pieter takes another step._ ” They’d stumbled over a few lines at the beginning, where Phil had gone on into something Dan should’ve read, but it’s sort of remarkable how quickly they fell into a pattern. 

“ _There’s a moment when Pieter tilts the knife and a flash of light glints off the edge, a moment when Rowan wonders if it’s worth it, if this is the hill he dies on. But his family isn’t safe, not yet, and he vowed to do everything in his power to change that. ‘I’ll die before I stand down,’ he growls._ ” Dan’s eyes widen as he reads - this is the first glimpse of Rowan’s backstory and the beginning of the redemption arc, and he’s pleased it’s garnering this reaction from Dan. Perhaps, he thinks, it’s more good than bad that he has someone who can actually listen to his stories and provide real feedback.

“ _Fire courses through Pieter’s blood at the words and he rushes forward, pinning the prince against the wall with his knife pressed to his neck. ‘You’ll let her free or I’ll slit your throat right here,’ he threatens, though he knows he can’t follow through. Rowan just laughs, and his skin pushes against the edge of the knife. Blood drips from a thin cut as contempt drips from his gaze._ ” Phil doesn’t dare look over, now, too afraid Dan will taunt him even on this scene.

“ _‘You think you’re something special, don’t you? That you’ll steal her heart by damning me?’ Rowan laughs again, the cold steel almost welcoming against his throat. At least death by an enemy’s hand is no surrender, and there’s no dishonor in it. But still, his primal instincts beg him to survive, to continue on even if it demands a life of cowardice. He struggles against Peiter’s grip only to be forced harder back into the wall, his entire body held still by Pieter’s._ ” Dan doesn’t sound any different, Phil doesn’t think, but warmth creeps up Phil’s cheeks at the implication, at even just the _position_ his characters are in. 

“ _‘I’ll see you hanged for this,’ Pieter growls, his eyes narrowing as he leans a hair closer. A smirk curls the prince’s lips, bitter and red as the undoubtedly vile blood running through his veins. The same blood coloring Pieter’s knife, and he tugs it back just a bit. For all his words, he has no intent to see the man anywhere but in a jail cell. Murder does not become him, not even for Claire’s life._ ” They’re close to safer territory, to the end of the scene where he’s no longer imagining himself and Dan in Pieter and Rowan’s places, but he still doesn’t dare look at Dan.

“ _It’s unfair, Rowan thinks, that he should be brought so low by those above him as to be held against his will by a man a mere hair taller than him. He shouldn’t be forced to stare into those narrowed brown eyes and know they hold only contempt for him, only love for the woman behind the door. It’s unfair that he’s in this position - another day, another time, perhaps he and Pieter could’ve been allies. Friends, if he dares think that way, though he doesn’t dare think any farther than that. He lets his gaze drop to Pieter’s lips for just a moment, his single indulgence before relinquishing his life. At least he can say he tr-_ ” Dan cuts off the line perfectly, allowing Phil to swoop in.

“ _There’s a crash and splintering of wood, a broken gasp from the man Pieter’s holding against the door, and he falls into Pieter so quickly that he barely moves his knife out of the way in time to avoid slicing the prince’s throat. From the door, the glint of an axe splits the wood, and red drips from the edge. A matching line soaks through the material of Rowan’s shirt, and Pieter lets his knife clatter to the ground so he can wrap his arms properly around the downed prince. A moment later, Claire crashes through the door, no longer blocked by the wood bar holding it shut, a wicked, triumphant grin on her lips._ ” Phil finishes, his practiced note of finality heavy in the last line. Now he does allow himself a glimpse over at Dan, who just grins back at him. It’s a grin full of excitement and maybe a little pride, so Phil lets himself set aside his nerves for the moment.

“And we’ll- uh, the story will return on Friday! Thanks for listening, have a great evening.” He clicks the mic off and switches over to his music, a process that usually takes five seconds but he’s stretching into nearly fifteen.

“That was fun,” Dan says, but it sounds cautious, like he’s waiting for something. Or maybe like he’s got something else to say but he’s not quite sure about saying it.

“Yeah, thanks, uhm, for reading it,” Phil says, still fiddling with buttons on his software that he knows won’t do anything but if he keeps staring at the screen, he won’t have to look at Dan. A hand lands on his arm, though, and he glances over on instinct. Dan’s got a soft smile on his lips, one that doesn’t look like he’s about to tease Phil, so he just keeps looking.

“Really, it was fun, thank you.” Dan’s hand doesn’t leave, though he does glance down at Phil’s lap briefly. A rush of panic runs through Phil’s system because _shit_ had he been imagining he and Dan a little _too_ vividly? He’s wearing sweatpants, of course, but- “Can I sit? You made me stand this whole time and that’s _great_ for acting and staying alert, but…”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, I should’ve- wow, I’m a shit host, uh, let me-” Phil moves to stand, but Dan’s hand slides up to his shoulder and presses him back down. Phil glances up just in time to see Dan move closer as his knees settle on either side of Phil’s thighs and his hips settle on Phil’s. The chair creaks ominously beneath them but holds, and Phil’s far too distracted by Dan’s lips moving closer to bother worrying about it.

“So,” those lips say, and Dan’s tongue flicks out over them, “ever heard of method acting?”

Phil swallows thickly, his hands flitting up to rest on Dan’s hips.

“Probably, but remind me,” Phil says, his heart leaping in his chest when Dan leans closer. 

“Well, the idea is if you want to get into character...” Dan’s hands trail down Phil’s chest, slow and light enough that Phil shivers. “You really _live_ the scene. I think we could do some of that, it’d be good practice.” He dips his head, then, down to Phil’s neck, and trails his lips against the skin. “What do you think?” 

Phil wonders how Dan could possibly expect him to think _anything_ with all the distractions - he supposes it’s a good idea, though he’s aware enough to know the whole ‘getting into character’ thing isn’t what Dan’s getting at. Not that Phil really cares.

“So, what, you want to go over that bit again?” Phil offers, his hands sliding up Dan’s sides as a warm breath hits his neck.

“Probably should read the next part, don’t you think?” Dan suggests, but Phil just rolls his eyes.

“You’re just using me to get to my story!” He jokes, laughing into the air above Dan’s head. He hears some soft denial at the base of his throat, Dan’s tongue swiping over a spot in what Phil’s sure is an attempt to convince him to relinquish the next episode. Phil pokes Dan’s side.

“‘M not!” Dan argues after an indignant squeak, lifting his head so it’s level with Phil’s. For a moment, Phil just admires the adorably frustrated crease between Dan’s brow, the way his lips have pursed into a pout, his cheeks flushed with warmth most likely from Phil’s accusation.

“Oh yeah, Mr. ‘what’s the point of dating the author if you can’t get a sneak preview’ or whatever.” Dan’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to come up with an argument, but an idea sparks in Phil’s head that’ll _probably_ satisfy them both. “I mean, I didn’t say _no_ ,” he notes.

“Well, go on then.” Dan tilts his head toward the computer screen, but Phil shakes his head.

“After the show’s over, if you want all this method acting stuff.” Phil’s cheeks flush at his own implication, that this might take longer than the half hour that’s left, but...well, he’d _rather_ it take longer, wouldn’t he? And the way Dan huffs out a breath, turns his head and twists his lips - his signature trying-not-to-smile smile - suggests he’s of the same mind.


	12. i couldn't help but think of you

“It’s after,” Dan says the moment Phil’s signed off his show. The literal moment, too - he’s barely clicked to end the stream when Dan speaks.

“It is,” Phil agrees - now that _Dan’s_ the one desperate for something, Phil’s enjoying taking his time. He wonders briefly if that’ll apply _later_ , if he’ll want to take his time the way he does now. He wonders, yet again, what _Dan_ wants.

“Alright, you tease, shove over, I want-”

“No no no, you don’t get to see the story!” Phil closes out of the document - thank god for autosave - before Dan can get to it. Dan hovers over him, arms crossed and a scowl on his lips. Phil can’t help but grin up at him.

“How the _fuck_ are we meant to practice without the actual script, hm?” He’s got a brow quirked, and Phil can see the beginnings of a smile, like Dan’s already assuming he’s won. 

“Well _I_ know what happens,” Phil shrugs, “so you can just follow my lead.” 

“I’m not big on following.” Dan doesn’t move even when Phil stands from his chair, so Phil uses it to his advantage, wrapping an arm around Dan’s waist and holding him close.

“Suppose you’ll have to learn, then, won’t you?” It’s easier, he thinks, if he pretends he’s this sort-of-in-control character of Pieter, if he pretends for a minute that he’s the hero of his story, confident and suave and probably pretty fit and that Dan’s pining over him. Well, he supposes that last bit is true, at least.

“Oh and you’ll teach me, will you?” Dan’s all snark even as he drapes his arms over Phil’s shoulders and pulls him backward toward the sofa - much as Phil would like to steer Dan toward the bedroom, given the sheer length of their noodly bodies and the fact that a bed might be more comfortable, he supposes it’s best not to get carried away just yet.

“Reckon I could, uh, teach you a few things,” Phil says, though he suddenly feels out of his depth, floundering the same way he had the first few times he’d met Dan - this whole method acting thing is dragging him way outside his normal comfort zone, and he wonders if they shouldn’t maybe be pretending about something a little less intense.

As if a makeout scene - the one he’s picturing in his head, anyway - is _so_ intense. For fuck’s sake, they’ve made out before. Phil tells himself it’s just Dan, the same Dan he knew years and years ago, the same Dan who’s such a sap he recognized Phil two decades later. 

“Go on, then, teach me.” Dan’s words, low and sultry, tug Phil out of his head and into the real world, the world where one of Dan’s hands winds up into Phil’s hair, guides him closer and into a kiss. It’s warm and hot at the same time, just like in the lift, and Phil grins at the promise Dan had made that they’d pick that up where they left off. This feels a lot like picking it back up.

It’s like a switch has flipped inside Phil’s head, and his hands wander freely, comfortably across the expanse of Dan’s back, across the thin material of the t-shirt. Dan nips at Phil’s lip as his hand slides down Phil’s back to the spot just above the hem of his sweatpants.

Phil goes easily when Dan guides him down, following him first with his lips and then - more cautiously - with the rest of his body. He’s forced to break away for a moment when he can’t figure out where his knees ought to go, as Dan’s spread his legs wide in a cruelly tempting way. Phil has to take a moment, suck in a breath and shove the idea of Dan splayed out like that without those sweatpants on.

“Actually, wait, wait-” Dan holds a hand to Phil’s chest just as he’s moving down to straddle Dan - he’s got wide hips, he figures he can manage it even with Dan sat like that. But he pauses when Dan asks, and waits. And waits. And _waits_ , but Dan’s still taking deep breaths and Phil watches the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Am I still waiting?” He asks once it feels like ages have passed - his voice comes out a little hoarse, though Dan doesn’t seem to notice. He just huffs out a bitter laugh and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“You might be waiting a while.” Dan squeezes his eyes shut, and Phil feels his face scrunch in confusion - why would he have to wait to climb onto Dan’s- _oh_. 

He grins as he leans against Dan’s hand, gently settling himself on Dan’s lap. As he suspected, Dan’s just as hard as he is, and Dan’s eyes fly open to glare at Phil. His face has turned bright red as well, which only makes Phil’s grin widen. Dan’s into this, into _Phil._

“I quite like this method acting, I think,” Phil muses, leaning in to kiss Dan’s pouting lips. For all Dan’s protesting and hard stares, he melts easily into Phil, his mouth soft and warm as he presses his chest against Phil’s.

Phil’s hand comes up to rest on Dan’s cheek, almost feverishly hot under his palm, but he can hardly mind when Dan’s lips tighten, when his dimple appears just under the base of Phil’s thumb.

Time passes this way, of that Phil is certain, but he’s not sure how much nor how quickly; there’s a sudden buzz somewhere under him, between him and Dan, he thinks, and it makes him jump and pull away quickly.

“I did _not_ consent to vibrators!” Somehow, _that’s_ the first thing out of his mouth once it detaches from Dan’s, and he’s sure his face would flush bright red if he weren’t already hot and worked up from the past however many minutes. Hours? _Eons_?

Dan just breaks into a full laugh, one that lights up his whole face and puts little crinkles around his eyes. Phil’s tempted to run his thumb over them, but he’s already stood up and Dan’s already fishing in his pocket for whatever had interrupted them.

When he pulls out his phone, an alarm lighting up the screen, Phil’s lips curl down of their own accord.

“I have to go,” Dan says, and Phil nods - he expected it, of course. They’ve both got work tomorrow, and whatever it is Dan does requires a good night’s sleep. Phil supposes his job does as well, but he can manage on only a few hours of rest and a steady stream of caffeine if he has to. Dan’s lips twist into a sort-of sad smile.

“Think we can pick this back up Friday?” Phil asks, stepping back so Dan can get to his feet. He tries very very hard not to stare at the noticeable tent in Dan’s sweatpants - a part of him is still shocked Dan likes him _this_ much. As much as Phil likes _him_.

“Actually- I mean, yeah, definitely, but...” Dan grins at Phil, though there’s a swirling feeling in the pit of Phil’s stomach, and he waits for the other shoe to drop. It’s something bad, he’s sure, though he can’t quite guess what. “I’ve got some time off around lunch tomorrow? Do you get a lunch break, or-”

“Yeah!” Phil rushes to say, glad for any extra time spent with Dan. Dan peeks back over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door, and his little smile says everything.

“Kay, I’ll text you, then?” Phil watches him pull on his jacket, one that goes down to his knees and definitely conceals Dan’s arousal. Phil bites his tongue, trying not to get too caught up on the idea of _Dan’s arousal_ , and offers a hum of acknowledgement. “What.” Dan glances over as he shoves his feet into his shoes, brows lifted high on his forehead. “I don’t get a kiss goodnight?” 

“All that didn’t count?” Phil grins as he points at the spot they’d just stood from on the sofa, and Dan rolls his eyes. But Phil’s by his side by the time he grabs the doorknob, and he presses a quick kiss to Dan’s cheek. “There, goodnight Danny boy.” He giggles at Dan’s indignant expression, at how Dan’s wide mouth doesn’t quite look as annoyed when his lips are still puffy from their earlier makeout session. 

“I changed my mind about you calling me anything, you _cannot_ call me that.” Dan grumbles before turning the handle and tugging at the door. Phil grabs his free hand before he can step outside and drags him back and into a proper kiss, one that steals the breath from his own lungs even though he’s the one who initiated it. The residual lust in his bloodstream probably isn’t helping.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dan says the moment they break apart, his word coming out on a heavy breath. “I take it back, you keep kissing like that, you can call me whatever you want.” 

\------------

Phil can’t sleep.

He tries, _really_ he does, but his mind buzzes with _Dan Dan Dan Dan_ and it won’t quiet down. Tea doesn’t help, not even chamomile, and he finds himself with wide-open eyes and a racing heart as he lays in bed. Even nearly an _hour_ later he can’t get can’t get rid of the soft lips and warm hands and warmer body and _shit_ Dan had been _hard_ , that’d been because of _Phil_. Because he’s _into_ Phil.

His hand slips under the waistband of his pants and his mind slips into the land of ‘what if’, what if Dan had stayed, what if they’d come to the bed instead, what if Dan had tugged his shirt off, let those low-hanging sweatpants slide from his hips. What if they’d gone further, what if he’d gotten to indulge his fantasy of having Dan, hearing Dan make those noises he does when he eats good food, maybe even hear his _name_ from Dan’s lips on the breath of a moan.

He feels utterly spent when he finishes, when he comes to the idea of Dan thoroughly fucked out in his bed, and then he’s feeling sleepy and warm and he doesn’t feel like moving but he _knows_ how much he’ll hate himself if he doesn’t. So he cleans himself up and crawls back under the covers and imagines Dan’s properly there, curled around him or maybe the other way round, but the idea is comforting enough to lull him to sleep.

\--------------

There’s a buzz, and Phil wakes wondering what the hell _bees_ are doing in his flat in the middle of November. 

His brain starts functioning a minute later, and he realizes the buzz probably came from his phone and not bees, so he fumbles around his sheets in the dark in search of a rectangle.

 **Dan:** _thanks for tonight_

 **Dan:** _it was fun_

 **Dan:** _like really fun_

**Dan: __**_really REALLY fun_

**Dan: __**_i uhhh_

**Dan: __**_nvm_

Phil stares hard at the blurry letters until they come into focus, then he stares a bit harder. The last text is from less than ten minutes ago, even though Dan should be asleep - it’s nearly three in the morning.

 **Phil:** _I had fun too :) What were you gonna say?_

He stares at the messages, trying to read between the lines or decipher some kind of hidden code - if he _is_ an assassin, Phil supposes that would make sense. The first letter of each text, maybe? But what the hell does ‘tilrin’ mean? He waits another few seconds, hoping to see the typing indicator, but none pops up. He wonders if Dan’s gone to sleep properly now.

In a fit of late-night curiosity, he switches over to google and types in ‘tilrin’, hoping for some secret meaning. If that’s even what the code is, he hardly knows any more about hidden messages than what he’s learned from spy movies. 

Unfortunately, all that pops up is someone’s twitter handle - and based on the quick scroll through their tweets, it doesn’t seem likely to be associated with Dan - and a few articles in other languages. When his phone buzzes, a text interrupting his futile searching, he nearly drops it on his face.

 **Dan:** _shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

**Phil: __**_Shouldn’t you?_

**Dan:** _touche_

Phil grins at the screen, still a little amazed at how just the simple act of texting Dan makes him feel so-

 _Oh_. Last night - hours ago? - he’d gotten off to the thought of Dan, to the thought of being with Dan. Surely that’s not-

**Phil: __**_Do I get to know what you were gonna say earlier? :)_

**Dan: __**_nope definitely not_

**Phil: __**_Unfair!!!_

An idea swirls in his head, something only the early hours of the morning could spawn and that only the darkness and the weight of his duvet could convince him is a good idea.

**Phil: __**_If I tell you something, will you tell me? Trade secrets?_

It’s only once he’s pressed send that he thinks ‘trade secrets’ sounds like ‘trade secrets’ as in ‘secrets of the trade’, and he’s just typing a clarifying text when Dan’s comes through.

**Dan: __**_depends, is it good? a juicy secret? that’s the only currency i’ll accept_

Phil takes a steadying breath - objectively, he supposes it’s not a huge deal, especially if his suspicions are correct. They’re...sort of close to that step, right? Is that a step, like first and second and third base? Really, what a horrible system, it hardly covers the infinite possible situations a person might find themselves in. Also, it’s a sport metaphor, which makes it even worse. And an _American_ sport metaphor. There has to be a better way.

**Dan: __**_well?????_

**Phil: __**_I thought of you last night_

**Phil: __**_Well, tonight, technically?_

**Phil: __**_Or would it be last night?_

**Phil: __**_But yeah_

He holds his breath as he waits, curls himself into a ball and chews at his lip when the typing indicator comes up. Surely he’s not overstepped some invisible boundary, right? Things have gotten pretty intense before, and he _thinks_ Dan’s done the same, but what if he’s wrong? What if he’s gone and freaked Dan out and he’s never going to speak to Phil again? 

**Dan: __**_you thought of me that’s hardly a juicy secret Technically Philip i expected better_

There’s a long pause where Phil stares at the bright white of his phone screen and wonders if it’s less mortifying to throw his phone off a balcony than to explicitly state what he did whilst thinking of Dan.

**Dan: __**_unless you mean you were ““thinking of me”” in which case very very juicy ;)_

Phil stares harder at his phone, warmth crawling up his cheeks - although Dan doesn’t seem _upset_ by the prospect that Phil had gotten off with Dan on his mind, he also seems half a second away from teasing Phil for it. Maybe Phil _had_ been wrong in his guess about what Dan had meant to text earlier.

**Phil: __**_Maybe..._

He’s not sure he wants to get into any details, not yet anyway, not unless Dan asks. Oh god, would he ask? Phil’s written some pretty explicit stuff for his stories before, but never with someone he _knew_ \- someone he _liked_ \- reading it. And never _about_ that person.

 **Dan:** _ooh hot ;) does this mean i have to give up my secret now too?_

Phil rolls his eyes at the ceiling - at least he’s not been dropped for it, and the worry in his chest loosens. There’s a brief, fleeting moment when he realizes he can do it _again_ , if he wants - Dan doesn’t seem bothered.

**Phil: __**_Shush!! Yes, you have to, you promised!_

**Dan: __**_i didn’t but i GUESS i’ll tell you since i like you so much ;)_

Moments pass, nearly a full minute, and Phil’s about to start typing again when his phone buzzes.

**Dan: __**_i did too_

He reads it over and over, three little words that set his heart racing, set his blood flowing south again in spite of the fact that he shouldn’t even be awake, he _should_ be sleeping. But Dan’s just confirmed exactly what he suspected, and electricity crackles through his entire body.

**Phil: __**_Did what?_

Dan’s not getting away with it that easily, not with his drawn out teasing of Phil for doing the same thing. 

**Dan: __**_thought about you_

**Dan: __**_““thought about you””_

Phil grins at his phone, turns until he’s laying flat on his back. His hand itches to reach under the waistband of his pants again - Dan had gotten off to thinking of _Phil_. He’s so, so very tempted to ask what exactly Dan had been thinking about, what he wanted Phil to do. What he _imagined_ Phil doing.

**Phil: __**_Aww how sweet you thought of me! What were you thinking about? :)_

He’s aware it’s a brutally ‘innocent’ question, but it’s three in the morning and he’s feeling brave and bold and a little bit turned on and things that happen at three in the morning don’t really happen in real life so he doesn’t have to be embarrassed to ask, he doesn’t have to-

His phone buzzes in his hand, and it’s not just the single short buzz of a text. No, this is an incoming call, and Dan’s name lights up the screen. It’s all Phil’s fears from weeks ago brought back in startling detail, but what if Dan’s going to answer his question? God, he might actually _melt_ if he gets to hear Dan’s voice as he describes all the ways he wants Phil to make him feel good. He hits accept.

“ _Phil?_ ” Phil wants to laugh, as if there’d be anybody else answering his phone at three in the morning.

“Hi,” he says back, already grinning as he stares at the ceiling.

“ _You’re a little shit, you know that, right?_ ” Phil smiles even harder, a little breath of a laugh coming out through his nose.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinking about?” He asks, affecting as innocent a voice as he can manage. As if anything about this is or will be ‘innocent’; his free hand drifts below the duvet, trailing down his bare chest. He imagines it’s Dan’s hand, and he lets his eyes drift shut.

“ _I am, and you’re gonna tell me what you were thinking about._ ” It’s a command, but just barely, and Phil’s breath hitches - it’s what he was afraid of, all those weeks ago, having to articulate something on the fly with Dan listening, judging every word. 

“You first.” Phil manages, and he hears Dan blow out a breath on the other end of the line. He sets his phone by his head on the pillow and switches it to speaker, turning the volume just low enough that he can still hear.

“ _You.”_

“Yeah, got that,” Phil interjects after a noticeable pause on Dan’s part.

“ _Shut up, I’m trying to be sexy,”_ Dan grumbles, and Phil laughs into the darkness. As if Dan has to _try_ to be sexy. As if he isn’t already, all the time.

“Okay, okay, go on.”

“ _You, with me._ ” Phil resists the urge to make a sarcastic remark again - he actually does really want to hear this. “ _We were, uh, on my bed. You had me pinned, like, I couldn’t move, but it was good.”_ Phil files this away, suppressing the urge to ask what Dan’s bed looks like, if it’s comfy. He hasn’t been over to Dan’s yet. Hasn’t been invited.

“ _You, uhm, kept- like, you were grinding into me, we still had clothes on- shit, Phil, you know I’m awful at telling stories._ ” Dan grumbles, but Phil’s lost in his head - he can picture it well enough, the blanks filling in as irrelevant details. His hand trails lower to the skin just above the hem of his pants.

“No, no, it’s good, keep going.” He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate, that his voice isn’t too breathy, but _god_ he wants to see where this goes.

“ _Ugh, fine._ ” Briefly, Phil wonders if there’d been any real resistance at all, or if Dan just wanted the reassurance that Phil still wanted to hear him. “ _You, uhm, pulled my shirt off, then my pants - I was still wearing the sweatpants, so those and my underwear - and you had me fully naked and- fuck, Phil…_ ” For a moment, Phil has trouble placing the tone, but the silence leaves space for the quiet but fast breaths Dan’s making on the other end. 

“What then?” He tries to keep his own tone even, but his voice comes out hoarse as his hand slides into his pants and takes ahold of himself.

“ _What do you think, Phil?_ ” Dan grumbles, sarcasm thick in his tone. “ _You fucked me, obviously_.” It’s harsher than Phil expects, but his curiosity - and arousal - gets the best of him.

“How?” He exhales it on a breath, desperate to know what Dan likes, what he _wants_.

“ _How- Philip, are you a virgin?_ ” There’s something tight and false in Dan’s laugh, but Phil sputters out a much less subtle one.

“I’m not,” he clarifies, “but _please_ tell me how you want me to fuck you, you’re killing me, Howell.” The directness seems to take Dan off guard, if the soft _‘oh’_ and slow exhale are anything to go by; it takes Phil off guard as well, his sudden brashness making his own hand stutter in its slow pace as he strokes himself.

“ _Fuck, any way, Phil, literally, I’m-_ ” There’s a shuddering breath, a moment of pause. “ _God I wish you were here right now,_ ” he says, and Phil lets himself imagine Dan’s in the same predicament, hand moving fast below his covers and thinking of Phil. Again.

“ _You’re_ the one who left, remember?” Phil grins at the ensuing groan on the other end. “Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” 

“ _Ugh, don’t remind me…”_ Dan grumbles, and there’s another long pause. Phil listens closely for the telltale sounds of what Dan might be doing - his fast breathing, maybe a hand beneath fabric or a whine Dan couldn’t keep contained. “ _This is worth sleep deprivation._ ” He says finally, his voice louder, closer to the phone, Phil thinks.

“Oh? Getting off to the thought of me taking you?” Phil can’t quite believe himself, the words that he lets fall from his tongue, but Dan said it’s worth it - _Phil_ is worth it, worth losing sleep over. Funny how the early hours of the morning let him speak freely like this.

“ _God, fuck, yes Phil, that’s- fuck, I want you so badly, you have no idea_.” The words come on heavy breaths and Phil closes his eyes, pictures Dan saying these things in his ear, imagines Dan laid next to him, right there. Asking for Phil. _Begging_.

“I do,” Phil argues, his little concession, his admission that he’s right there with Dan, in a sense. His hand moves faster, heat coiling in his stomach as he imagines Dan biting his lip, moaning as he sinks down on Phil, his bare skin flushed pink with heat and his hair pushed up off his forehead in a sweaty, curly mess.

“ _God, Phil, I’m- I’m so close._ ” He stops with proper words, then, the only sounds on the other end his heavy breaths interspersed with low whines. It’s too much, _way_ too much, and Phil falls over the edge with the sound of Dan in his ear. 

His breathing finally evens out after what feels like ages, quieting down enough that he can hear the soft exhales on the other end of the phone.

“Dan?”

“ _Phil._ ” He can’t quite read the tone in Dan’s voice, perhaps cautious, if he had to guess?

“We should sleep.” He’s not sure if that’s what he should say, or if he should comment on what just happened, or _what_ he should do.

“ _Good night, Phil._ ” Still, that slightly _off_ tone.

“We should, uhm, that was- it was good.” It was _good_? That’s really the best Phil can do? He’s meant to be a fairly good writer, he thinks, and the only thing his brain can come up with is _good?_

“ _Yeah, it was._ ” Phil grins - he can hear the smile in Dan’s voice, so he thinks things are probably okay. He’s too tired to properly worry if they aren’t, to read between lines that aren’t there for problems that don’t exist. Dan sounds happy, Phil feels happy, and they both ought to sleep.

“Good night, Dan.”


	13. waiting for the right words

Phil wakes with Dan on his mind. Fortunately, not in the same way it was last night, as he’s exhausted and running late and he hardly has time to take care of something like _that_ again.

But he’s thinking of Dan all the same, running through everything that had happened last night - _before_ Dan had left - and dissecting it on his way to work. By the time he turns the corner onto the daycare’s street, he’s come to two very important conclusions: first, he should probably text Dan about their lunch date, since they have yet to confirm a time and place, and second, Dan is definitely under cover.

There’s no other proper explanation he can come up with for why Dan would’ve stopped him saying his full name on the show unless he needed to keep his identity a secret. The vague idea that perhaps Dan’s just worried about his privacy _does_ come to mind, but then, why would he give his name to _Phil,_ a stranger he’d only just met?

Well, Phil supposes they _did_ meet years and years ago, but that doesn't automatically make Phil trustworthy if Dan were just generally paranoid about his private information. But if he’s a _spy_ , or perhaps an assassin, he may have done his research, he could have a trusted person or two that he’s okay with knowing who he really is - Phil hopes it’s just _one_ trusted person.

**Phil: __**_Are we still on for lunch today? My break starts at 12:30_

As he waits for a response, he pulls up google. He’s still got a good two minutes before he arrives at the daycare and Dan didn’t respond right away, so he figures he may as well put that time to use. He types ‘Daniel Howell’ into the search bar.

His finger hovers over the search button, the little magnifying glass tempting him with its all-knowing power. But Dan still hasn’t _told_ Phil that he’s a spy, so would it be rude to try to find out more about him without him knowing?

Phil sighs and locks his phone - it wouldn’t be fair of Phil to go behind Dan’s back. A flash of a memory worms itself to the front of Phil’s mind: Dan curled up in Phil’s arms, tense and nervous, reminding Phil that he’s not yet asked about Dan’s job. 

He trusts Dan.

Just as he pushes open the door to the daycare, his phone buzzes in his hand.

**Dan: __**_yeah :) where you wanna go?_

\-----------

They decide on a casual Indian place not too far from the daycare, and Phil indulges in his chicken tikka masala craving. He’s not sure what Dan gets, but it looks delicious.

“Can I try a bite?” Dan glances up at Phil’s words, his mouth full of whatever he’s chosen. He swallows, then tilts his head.

“‘S a bit spicy.” He lifts a brow, which is basically a massive challenge and Phil decides he _has_ to try it now.

“I can handle a bit of heat, Dan.” He rolls his eyes for effect, but Dan just shrugs and points his fork at the bowl. Phil stabs and scoops up a bite and, he’ll admit, he _does_ feel watched as Dan, well, watches him. He tries his best not to drop anything between the bowl and his lips.

The moment he closes his mouth around the fork, he knows it’s a mistake - he can feel the heat tickling his nose right away, but he’ll look like an absolute idiot if he lets it show. So he chews, swallows, and does his best to ignore the burning on his tongue. He definitely does _not_ let his eyes water, he does _not_ choke back a cough, and he does _not_ let out heavy breaths in some sad attempt to cool his tongue.

“Really good!” He enthuses once he thinks he’s got enough composure to do so, but Dan’s just shaking his head and grinning at him.

“You idiot, I told you it was hot.” He shoves his little container of creamy cucumber dip across the table and Phil stares at it for all of three seconds before deciding he’s blown his cover anyway, he may as well alleviate at least _one_ source of suffering. Dan will probably have fun with this for quite a bit longer, if the whole ‘Greg’ incident is anything to go by.

After several mouthfuls of tikka masala with cream dip, he’s pretty sure he’s put out the fire in his mouth, and at the very least he doesn’t feel even the slightest bit chilly anymore. He figures he’ll probably never be cold again, most likely. Dan’s still got a tiny smile on his lips when Phil glances up from his food-shoveling, the same kind he has whenever he’s gotten his way with something.

“Can we talk about last night?” The words fly out of Phil’s mouth almost as quickly as he’s remembered about them; he’s been meaning to bring up the whole ‘not saying Dan’s last name on his show’ thing since it popped into his head this morning. He’d been thinking to bring it up more _casually_ , but the heat’s gone to his head and probably burned up all his self-control.

In place of a response, Dan ends up coughing, eyes wide as he attempts to swallow whatever bite he’d apparently been chewing. Which, for Phil, clearly confirms he’s onto _something_ with Dan’s secrecy. He tries not to let the idea of dating a secret agent-slash-spy-slash-assassin get to his head too much. 

“Ph- _Phil_ , what- what do you mean?” Dan chokes out, finally, his voice low and eyes glancing around at the nearby tables. So far, nobody seems to be focused anywhere but their own food, but Phil takes a cursory check around as well. He’d be a pretty shit boyfriend if he blew Dan’s cover.

“I’m- I mean, I get it, don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to know, like, for _sure_.” Phil nods, eyes narrowed, his signal to Dan that he’ll keep the secret. He tries not to get too excited - or should he be terrified? Spies lead exceptionally dangerous lives, what if something happened to Dan whilst out on a mission? Fear suddenly swoops in, clogging up his chest and constricting his lungs.

“I’m- _what_ are you on about?” Dan’s brows knit together, though his cheeks stay a bright pink shade that nearly blends into the red-painted walls around them. Phil just nods again and takes another bite - they probably shouldn’t talk too much about Dan’s job in public, he reasons.

Dan tilts his head, opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then opens it one more time, like he’s thinking about saying something else, before he pulls out his phone. Phil startles when his pocket vibrates, until he realizes it must be a text from Dan. Obviously.

**Dan: __**_okay are we talking about the uh phone call last night or something else_

Now it’s Phil’s turn to scrunch his face up in confusion - _that’s_ what he thought Phil was talking about? His cheeks flush at the implication, at the idea that Dan thought he wanted to talk about their pretty-much-phone-sex. Out loud. In a public place. He supposes the nearly-choking reaction makes a bit more sense now.

**Phil: __**_No! I mean, it was something else_

**Phil: __**_We could talk about that too, though!_

**Phil: __**_If you want. Like, not right now, obviously_

He glances up to find Dan already staring down at his phone, lips twisted in a way that makes his dimple stand out. Phil thinks - or, really, _hopes_ \- it’s because he’s doing that smiling-but-not-smiling thing.

**Dan: __**_i mean probably we should but like. yeah. uh. not right now. what did you mean then??????_

**Phil: __**_The intro part of the show? You cut me off from saying your name_

In retrospect, Phil supposes it wasn’t _all_ that obvious that’s what he was thinking about. And of all the things that happened last night they could talk about, the one Dan jumped to was _probably_ the most significant.

**Dan: __**_oh yeah...work thing, sorta_

**Dan: __**_sorry_

Phil stares down at the phone - this much he knew, or guessed, but he still wants that confirmation. Curiosity tugs against his better judgment.

**Phil: __**_I was gonna google you earlier today_

He peeks up to find Dan’s eyes go wide for a second, though they never leave his phone. He taps a few times, types something, taps again, and Phil glances down at his screen. Then back up, because he’s not received any messages. Dan’s still typing, he assumes, by the way he’s staring intently down, tapping, but then he’s tapping all over the screen and Phil wonders what else has captured his attention.

He stares for a while, waiting for a buzz in his hand or for Dan to look up and start talking again - neither of them has taken a bite in the past few minutes, but Phil’s not even sure he’s hungry anymore. Finally, Dan peeks up at Phil.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut, inhales so deep that Phil wonders where all the air could _possibly_ go to, and lets it out slowly. He taps a few more times on his screen and Phil’s phone finally vibrates.

**Dan: __**_i’m an actor okay don’t look me up but like. that’s why_

Phil frowns at the words - an _actor_? That hardly seems the type of profession for needing immense secrecy, unless-

**Phil: __**_Are you FAMOUS????_

It would make sense, then, that he’d try to keep his identity quiet. Phil sucks in a breath and looks up, wide-eyed, just in time to see Dan do the same. Then Dan’s staring back at his phone, though his fingers stay still, no evidence of him typing out a response. After a moment, Dan bites his lip. 

“I’m not like... _famous_ famous,” he mumbles aloud, eyes still staring steadfastly down; Phil barely manages to hear it over the ambient noise of the restaurant. He’s pretty sure he’s not blinking - Dan’s _famous_? Maybe not _‘famous_ famous’, but isn’t that what all famous people say? To be humble, or something?

“Have you been in movies?” He blurts out - probably at too high a volume, he realizes, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. Dan finally glances up, twist his lips. They looked chapped, like he’s been chewing at them this entire time.

“I mean, some, but mostly I do like. Theatre?” If possible, Phil’s eyes widen even further - how can Dan be so _casual_ about having been in _some movies_? And he does theatre as well? Suddenly, the whole ‘method acting’ thing makes a lot more sense. Actually, _everything_ makes a lot more sense.

“‘S why you’re so good,” Phil says, and Dan dips his head at the words. “At the reading thing,” he clarifies, but Dan doesn’t respond. His fork finds its way back to his food, poking around and picking up a bite, and Phil decides he should probably do the same if he’s gonna finish before he has to head back to work. Besides, Dan’s got the not-smiling smile on his lips and that dimple in his cheek and Phil thinks he’s probably said a good thing.

\----------

**Phil: __**_Am I ever gonna be allowed to google you?_

He’s just walked through the door to his flat, an uneventful evening awaiting him - Dan’s busy, he’s already checked, and all his friends-slash-coworkers have other things to do on a Wednesday night. Phil supposes he could write more, or play some game, but nothing sounds quite as appealing as the idea of learning more about Dan.

**Dan: __**_nope never :)_

**Phil: __**_What, so we’ll be old and grey and I still don’t get to know about your work?_

He reckons it’s a bit of a risk, suggesting they’ll be old and grey and still together, but he likes the idea in his head and all it takes is one click of the send button and then he’s done it. Besides, he can always play it off as a joke if Dan doesn’t seem okay with it, right?

 **Dan:** _yep pretty much_

Phil stares at the message, a sort-of-good-sort-of-bad feeling swirling in his stomach - sure, Dan hadn’t been opposed to them both being old and still together, if he even read that much into it, but he’s also quashed Phil’s hope for the immediate satisfaction of getting to learn more about him. 

Phil’s stomach growls, then, and he wonders if that weird feeling had maybe just been hunger.

It’s not til he’s sat down on his sofa with a bowl of cereal in hand - champion’s dinner, really - that he realizes he’s not yet responded to Dan.

**Phil: __**_:( Well I guess I just have to watch every movie ever created and go to every play on West End for the rest of time so I can figure it out! ;)_

**Dan: __**_lmao good luck with that_

**Dan: __**_srsly tho please don’t look me up_

Phil exhales a long-suffering sigh around his mouthful of cornflakes and lets his shoulders sink back into the sofa cushion - it’s not that he’d _planned_ on blatantly ignoring Dan’s earlier request not to google him, but he’d also sorta been hoping Dan would relent and change his mind.

**Phil: __**_Ughhhhhhhhh...I guess I won’t, then_

**Phil: __**_Well, talk to you later, got a LOT of movies to catch up on ;)_

**Dan: __**_asshole_

Phil grins down at the text - somehow, he can picture it in his head, Dan’s little smile as he types out the word. He can almost _hear_ Dan calling him an asshole actually, if he closes his eyes. He’s not entirely sure why closing his eyes helps, but it does.

**Phil: __**_You like it :)_

**Dan: __**_i like YOU but that’s not the point you’re still an asshole_

There ought to be a spoon that’s shaped super crescent-moon-y to match the shape of his mouth right now, cause Phil doesn’t think he’ll stop grinning anytime soon. But he does need to keep eating his cereal, probably. 

**Phil: __**_I like you too :)_

**Phil: __**_So, know any good movies I should check out tonight? ;)_


	14. don't you let go

Phil decides to scrap the idea of Dan as Lift Boy, given the severe lack of lifts in their particular story - perhaps Actor Boy would suit him better? Or Coffee Boy, for where they first re-met? He wonders, briefly, if he’s run across Dan in the past, somehow - Phil’s been in London for three years, it certainly seems possible. Then he’s wondering if he’s ever seen one of Dan’s movies, and how many ‘ _some_ ’ is.

“Unlocked!” Phil calls as soon as he hears the knock on his door, and he turns to find Dan tugging it open, several bags draped from his arms. He doesn’t _seem_ to be struggling, but Phil drops the TV remote and rushes over to help anyway.

"No, got it, here-" He holds one out for Phil to take, and a strong greasy-burger aroma floats up to his nose.

“ _Ugh_ that smells amazing.” Phil’s already peeking through the bag as he heads back to the sofa, momentarily distracted by the promise of good food. Dan flops down on the cushion beside him a few seconds later, now devoid of bags, and leans heavily against Phil’s shoulder.

“Mine’s the one with cheese.” Phil makes a noise of- well, sort of disgust, but it’s Dan, and he shouldn’t be _too_ rude. “ _Oi_ , just because you hate it doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to like cheese!” Dan elbows his side, reaching for the bag and tugging it from Phil’s loose grip.

Phil just huffs out a breath as Dan sets the food on his lap and pulls out the boxes - the one with a very obvious ‘C’ on the top he puts on the coffee table in front of him while the other he hands to Phil.

“ _Fine_ , but don’t expect me to kiss your yucky cheesy mouth after.” Phil presses his lips in a line, hoping to hold back his grin - it’s not _that_ big a deal, but he’ll take the opportunity to mess with Dan if he can.

Dan goes still beside him, and Phil glances over from his food to find him staring, brows just barely scrunched together.

“You’re not-”

“No,” Phil laughs, “I’m not serious, but...we may as well get a bit in _before_ …” He leans in, hand sliding up Dan’s arm, and Dan’s lips turn up in a smirk. He moves forward anyway, into Phil’s kiss, and they slip into a slow, lazy stretch of time. Phil lets his hand drift to the back of Dan’s neck, and he shifts as best he can to face Dan properly without breaking contact.

Dan ends up being the one to break it, though, just as Phil’s positioned uncomfortably in a poor attempt to actually _get_ comfortable.

“What are you _doing_ , you idiot.” Dan laughs through the words, leaning back into the sofa’s armrest and shaking his head at Phil. For a moment, Phil freezes - Dan looks...his dimple stands out beside his lip, pink dusts his cheeks, and crinkles etch into the corners of his eyes. He looks _incredible_ like this, soft and warm and light and happy. 

“Right, should eat,” Dan mumbles, and his grin turns into that smile that says he’s trying hard not to be too happy. Phil thinks maybe his cheeks flush a deeper red, but he can’t tell for sure and Dan’s already extracted his burger from the little box and Phil figures he should probably stop staring now and do the same.

They chew in silence for a few moments before Phil realizes he’d been doing something prior to Dan’s arrival, then he’s dropped his burger back in the box while he fumbles around for the TV remote.

“Avengers?” He asks aloud, navigating his way to the Netflix app. There’s a mumbled sound beside him that sounds vaguely affirmative, so he pulls up the movie and sets it to playing. Given Dan’s pointed lack of reaction, Phil figures he can cross this one off the list of movies Dan’s in. He’s only managed to get through three since they met for lunch and Dan revealed his secret, but he’s determined to learn more about Dan.

It’s not even exclusively curiosity about Dan’s job that drives Phil, that kept him up til nearly one in the morning last night rewatching some of his favorite movies. It’s more a curiosity for _Dan_ , to know him better, to maybe get a glimpse at a new angle that he might not get to see otherwise. 

But for now, he supposes the parts of Dan he can see - that Dan’s let him see - are more than enough. Besides, there’s a greasy burger to eat and a boyfriend to lean against and a very good movie to watch.

\-----------

He wakes to Dan nudging his arm, saying his name so softly he swears it could be just in his head. 

The longer he remains conscious, though, the less it feels like a dream and the more it starts to feel like reality. An unrealistic, storybook-level reality where his best friend from years and years ago somehow found him again, where they’re together and in love and-

Phil sucks in a sharp breath, sitting up so abruptly his head spins. Or maybe it’s that word, floating around up there, that makes him dizzy. 

“Phil?” Dan’s voice sounds crystal clear, now, like Phil’s got dog ears or some other super-hearing-sensitive animal. Bats? That’d be sonar, though, right? “ _Phil_ , earth to Phil?” Phil turns this time, sucking in a breath as he takes in the sight of Dan. Of _Dan_. The man he’s apparently fallen so hard for that his brain has decided it’s love.

He wonders, for a second, what’s so _momentous_ about the word - how it got such weight, attained such gravity that merely thinking it threatens to send Phil rushing from the room. He’s pretty sure it isn’t _fear_ , necessarily, not fear of the feeling itself. More the fear of the repercussions. What if he says it aloud, maybe on accident? He’s never been able to trust his tongue.

What if Dan doesn’t feel the same? That’s the real sore spot, if he’s honest: what happens to this unbelievably happy fairytale he’s found himself in if Dan doesn’t love him too? Does he wait instead, hope Dan will say it first? Unless it never comes, and then what? The word sits heavy in his stomach, claws digging into his insides.

“Phil, are you alright? You look a bit...ill?” Dan leans in just for a moment, then he’s squinting and moving himself as far away as he can on the limited space of the sofa. “You’re not sick again, are you?”

Phil blinks, finally, and opens his mouth. Even now, the word threatens to climb up his throat and launch itself at Dan.

“I’m fine, not sick.” He manages, and horribly, too - it honestly sounds like the metaphorical demonic personification of the word ‘love’ has actually torn his throat apart, leaving him hoarse and definitely sounding sick. He doesn’t miss the pointed quirk of Dan’s eyebrow.

“Should I go home, let you get some rest?” Dan exhales the words on a breath, one mixed between exasperation and concern, and Phil rushes to clear his throat.

“No! No, I mean-” Phil backpedals hard, suddenly overanxious about getting too close to expressing his feelings. “You can, like, if you want? But I’m not sick, and- I mean, I want you to stay.” This is safe, he thinks. This is territory they’ve covered before.

Dan tilts his head, eyes remaining narrowed for a moment before his body relaxes back into the space between them. 

“‘M sleepy though,” he says into Phil’s shoulder, and Phil wraps an arm around him purely on instinct. 

“We should sleep, then.” Phil’s got the day off tomorrow and Friday - at his boss’s insistence, since Phil’s otherwise prone to forgetting he’s even got days off to take - but Dan said he’s got a couple long days of work coming up. Interest prickles at Phil’s mind, temporarily erasing all other troubling thoughts for the moment - is Dan going to be on the set of a movie, then? Or maybe some intensive rehearsals for a play? 

In place of a response, Dan nods and hums into Phil’s shirt before dragging himself off the sofa with a dramatic sigh. Phil fights back a laugh - how could he have _not_ realized Dan was into theatre? It seems so blatantly obvious in retrospect.

\----------

By the time they’re both settled under the covers, Dan scooting himself back til Phil gets the message to wrap his arms around him, Phil’s actually feeling properly _awake_. Which is rather inconvenient, given the activity he’s meant to be doing right now.

To be fair, he _did_ just wake up from a poorly-timed nap.

“Tell me a story,” Dan mumbles into the pillow, adjusting himself in Phil’s arms until they’re pressed as close as physically possible. Phil laughs into the hair at the back of Dan’s neck.

“Kay, what kind of story, then?” He doesn’t think he can quite make one up on the fly, but maybe he could adapt one of his old stories, make it shorter or something. He’s not sure about a children’s story, unless Dan asks.

“The one you’re working on.”

Phil huffs out a breath of laughter and squeezes Dan.

“You only want me for my stories, is that it?” He can’t even keep a straight face, though the sharp contraction of Dan’s chest under Phil’s hands says he’s let out a soft laugh as well. 

“You caught me, it’s all a farce! A trick to get the ending before everyone else.” Dan dials up the dramatics - of _course_ he does - and turns in Phil’s loose grip to face the ceiling. Once they’ve both stopped their giggling, he peeks over at Phil.

“So?” He accompanies it with a quirked brow, and the laughter creeps back up on Phil.

“So what? I’m not giving away how it ends.” He shakes his head at Dan, at the exaggerated pout that curls Dan’s lips and the wide doe-like eyes that do all the begging for him. “I’m not!”

“Fine,” Dan grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Then his lips twist, the kind of face Phil’s coming to suspect means _something_ , and he braces himself for another wave of whatever tactic Dan’s going to try to use to convince him.

Dan’s silent for a long moment, but his expression softens from a tight-looking disappointment into something more neutral, more contemplative. He sneaks quick glances over at Phil, like he’s warring with himself on whatever he’s about to do, and Phil’s heart rate skyrockets - what if he’s about to play the ‘love’ card that Phil himself had been so terrified of? 

Or worse, what if he doesn’t mean it?

“You said the story was ‘going somewhere’,” Dan says, completely interrupting Phil’s train of thought. He blinks, tries to focus on what Dan’s _actually_ said and assess what he’s getting at.

“Of course it is, more stuff is gonna happen, and-”

“No, you said it was _going somewhere_.” Dan turns to stare hard at Phil, eyes wide; his brows lift just slightly, evidently waiting for Phil to-

“ _Oh_.” Phil sucks in a breath - he meant ‘going somewhere’ as in _Pieter and Rowan’s relationship_ is going somewhere. He swallows and turns toward the ceiling. “I did.”

Before he has time to consider what’s happening, Dan’s slid his leg over Phil’s lap to rest on the other side and he’s positioned himself on top of Phil, his lips hovering barely an inch away from Phil’s.

“Care to show me?” 

Phil watches Dan’s gaze as it flicks between Phil’s eyes and his lips, and it takes all of a second for Phil to decide what he would very _very_ much like to do right now.

He leans up just enough to catch Dan’s lip between his teeth and drag him in, and his hands find the fabric of Dan’s sweatpant-clad thighs and grip them tight under his fingers. He can feel Dan smiling into the kiss as if he’s _won_ something, as if Phil wouldn’t have gladly done this without any pretense of a story.

Dan wastes no time grinding his hips down into Phil’s, a sultry, slow movement that _must_ reduce the capacity in Phil’s lungs because he’s suddenly left breathing heavily and panting into Dan’s lips.

If Dan’s any better off, he doesn’t seem it: tiny whimpers escape his throat and spill into Phil’s mouth, and his hands can’t seem to find a single place to rest against Phil’s skin. They slide up his chest, across his shoulders, down his arms and back up, like Dan’s trying to make a map of Phil exclusively by touch. He doesn’t mind.

His own hands move higher on Dan’s legs, up his thighs to cup his ass, and that thoroughly ruins whatever rhythm Dan must’ve had. His hips stutter between grinding down into Phil and pushing back into his hands, and he drops his head to Phil’s shoulder. Phil does his best not to giggle at the needy noises falling from Dan’s tongue _then_.

Somewhere between mumbled whispers in Phil’s ear of _I need you I need you I need you_ and soft, hot breaths against his skin, both he and Dan lose the layers of fabric separating them. The only coherent thought Phil has afterward, _immediately_ afterward, is that he could _never_ do this justice in writing. The slow, hot feeling of sliding into Dan, of reliving that late-night phone call with him but for _real._ The hot pain as Dan bit his neck, his shoulder, _anywhere_ to muffle those noises that Phil wants to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

The sound of Phil’s name on Dan’s tongue as he came, swirled in with curses and prayers and a hundred other unintelligible things but so _so_ clearly Phil’s name.

No, Phil thinks this exists outside of words, and perhaps that’s for the better.

Although he does wish he’d properly heard the words Dan had whispered in his ear just before he fell asleep - those, he thinks, may have been good words.


	15. when i look at you

Phil wakes before Dan, and he spends probably far too long just watching Dan sleep.

Maybe, if it were anyone else or any other situation, Phil might think the whole thing creepy, but he literally _cannot_ stop himself - every tiny feature of Dan drags at Phil’s gaze with such weight that he fears he might get lost in each one.

Perhaps he’ll dive into Dan’s dimple and never return. Maybe the tiny gap between Dan’s parted lips will swallow Phil whole. He might disappear into the dip of Dan’s collarbone or the spaces between his eyelashes or the soft skin below his earlobe. He might get lost navigating through the messy waves of Dan’s hair.

Truly, Dan could consume him. Perhaps he already has.

And so it takes a momentous effort for Phil to drag himself from the bed - actually, it takes hunger, and the increasingly incessant growling of his stomach, which he’s worried might wake Dan. Although, he’s also worried that _moving_ might do the same. This fear wars for a moment with his noisy insides, until he’s certain the course of action that’s least likely to disturb Dan’s sleep is to get up.

As carefully as he can, Phil peels back the duvet just enough to slip out, and he gets to his feet with an astounding level of silence before re-covering the bed. He watches for another moment - he tells himself it’s only to be sure Dan’s not woken up, though mostly he just wants to stare a little longer - before creeping out of the room.

Upon arriving in his kitchen, he’s surprised to find that it’s nearly noon, although he doesn’t recall he and Dan going to bed _all_ that late last night. Though they _did_ get quite a workout, so he supposes that warrants a lie in. Phil grins widely at his microwave.

He continues grinning as he searches through his fridge and pantry, intent on finding something properly breakfast-y to make - he’s got a limited amount of ingredients, but he reckons pancakes will do. _Everybody_ likes pancakes. 

Plus they’re super hard to screw up.

He feels like a proper chef as he measures everything out and mixes it all in a bowl, even though that’s sort of very basic, but it’s rare he does any real cooking. In fact, it’s rare he ever puts even the slightest bit of effort into a breakfast, but he feels like this whole thing is rare. _Dan_ is rare, and therefore worth the pancakes. 

Phil’s _just_ got the pan hot enough to start pouring batter when Dan peeks his head into the kitchen.

“Oh! Hi, you’re up,” Phil says around a bright smile - actually, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t stopped smiling since he _arrived_ in the kitchen, but it falters at the look on Dan’s face. It’s that half-happy-half-sad expression that Phil knows all too well.

“I’m so sorry, you’re- ugh, I’m literally the worst, you’re actually _making breakfast_ , and-”

“It’s fine! I get it,” Phil says, doing his best to reinforce his grin. “You’re busy, it’s late already, rain check?” He _does_ get it, on a fundamental and logical level - Dan _is_ busy, it _is_ late in the day, but _god_ Phil wishes he could stay just for a bit, even just to eat a few pancakes. Phil sort of just wants to be near him right now.

Maybe Dan can’t read minds, but he _does_ seem to have good intuition - or maybe he’s just good at reading body language. Phil reckons that’s probably it, cause of all the acting he does. Dan slips into the kitchen properly and sort of crashes into Phil, wrapping his arms around Phil’s middle. 

“ _Thank you_.” It’s soft and gentle and right in Phil’s ear, and Dan’s arms squeeze Phil so tight he might explode, but it’s _good_ , it feels good. It feels like every way he thought of Dan enveloping him this morning rolled into one big warm comforting embrace. “And yes, rain check,” Dan adds as he pulls back. His face looks a little less sad, now, and that makes Phil a little less sad, too. 

Dan steps backward slowly, eyes still fixed on Phil as if he’s trying to gauge whether it’s _actually_ alright to go.

“Go on, don’t be late!” Phil tilts his head, and Dan’s smile widens just slightly before he whirls on a socked foot and retreats to the lounge, most likely to find his shoes.

“I _promise_ I’ll make it up to you!” Dan offers just as Phil steps out into the lounge to watch him go, and a very thrilling idea sparks at the back of Phil’s mind. He holds his breath and clings tight to the tiny concept in his head as Dan throws the door open and rushes out, tossing a grin back over his shoulder.

\---------

Phil waits exactly two hours before sending the text. He’s not sure why _exactly two hours_ but that feels like the right amount, for some reason, and it helps his anxious brain to give himself specific instructions.

**Phil: __**_You’ll make it up to me?_

He sits and stares at his phone for a solid ten minutes, heart racing and words bubbling up to the tip of his fingers, before he decides he needs somewhere to direct his nervous-waiting energy. Really, this thing he wants, it _shouldn’t_ be a huge thing to ask, right? Dan’s started to share things about his work life that he didn’t before, surely that means something? Besides, the world wouldn’t end if he said no!

Phil tells himself these things over and over in slightly different ways as he heads down from his apartment and steps out onto the street. He needs _something_ to distract him, and he hopes a walk will help. 

In a sense, it does - the fresh air, unexpected patches of sunlight on his skin, the subtle but familiar noises of a bustling city, they all serve to keep his mind busy. His body, however, seems to have one focus: Dan. Except he can’t have Dan, he doesn’t even know where Dan _is_ right now.

Instead, Phil ends up at the coffee shop where they met - well, met _again_. Sugar and caffeine are most likely _not_ the cure for his nerves in the long run, but he’s decided to live moment to moment and something warm and sweet sounds like the perfect medicine for this particular moment.

The second the coffee hits his tongue, he knows it was a bad call - his mind flashes _immediately_ to Dan, to their impromptu coffee date after Phil’s shift, to tasting the sugar off Dan’s lips on their walk home. He pulls his phone from his pocket, hoping for a new message.

Except there isn’t one, and he purses his lips before taking another sip of his drink. Phil would say he’s not normally an anxious person - which, he admits, isn’t entirely true - but he’s never felt quite _this_ keyed up in his entire life. He would also say he’s not a particularly _dramatic_ person, but that’s more in comparison to Dan, and Phil thinks _anyone_ in comparison to Dan could be considered not very dramatic.

When Phil’s phone buzzes, he does, in fact, nearly jump out of his seat, confirming both his anxiousness and his dramaticness in one fell swoop.

**Dan: __**_yeah i promised_

**Dan: __**_have something in mind? ;)_

It doesn’t take much more than the winky face for Phil to realize where Dan thinks this is headed, what kind of things he thinks Phil will ask for. That isn’t what Phil wants, though. Well, he _does_ , but not for this particular favor or whatever it is. He knows if he stops to try to explain _anything_ or try to hint at what he wants, he’ll lose what little bravery he has, so he types fast, grateful for autocorrect fixing the mistakes of his fumbling fingers.

**Phil: __**_Can I see one of your shows? Or movies? Please?_

He doesn’t let himself think before hitting send, then he’s torn between staring hard at the screen as he waits for a response and shoving his phone in his pocket in the hopes of forgetting about it, about whatever answer Dan might be typing out. Actually, he’d really like to toss it off a bridge or something, cause then he wouldn’t have to worry about Dan’s reply at all.

A part of him _knows_ nothing truly horrible could come from whatever Dan might say - he’s vaguely aware he’s acting like Samara from ‘The Ring’ will come crawling out of his phone - but his real fear lies in his insecurity. He can’t tell if this is crossing a line, outright asking to see some of Dan’s work.

But this is a chance, and he doesn’t know how many of them he’ll get - he has no idea how serious Dan was about them being old and grey and Phil still never seeing anything he’s been in. Surely he’s not _fully_ serious, right? It was just a joke?

Phil does nearly chuck his phone across the busy coffee shop when it buzzes again - he hadn’t even realized it was still in his hand.

 **Dan:** _you wouldn’t rather a part two of last night?_

Phil inhales sharply and glances around at the other nearby tables. As if anyone could actually see his screen and read the small text there. As if anybody actually cares that some guy’s boyfriend is hinting at sex. Phil reads over the words again.

His heart does somersaults in his chest - Dan didn’t say _no_. He didn’t say yes either, but Phil wonders how much of a chance he has. He spends probably far too long typing out a response, but he feels a bit like he’s stood on a tightrope and even the tiniest wrong move will send him over the edge.

 **Phil:** _I’d definitely like that, but I think I want to ask for the first thing right now? If that’s okay?_

**Phil: __**_Your work is clearly important and you’re so so SO good at it, I would love to see it_

**Phil: __**_But it’s your choice! No pressure. You can say no, if you want_

He hopes it’s not over the top, but he’s simultaneously not sure if it’s _enough_ \- he’s given Dan an easy out, if he wants it. The question is whether or not Dan wants it. Phil’s chest aches at the idea that Dan might still prefer to keep things separate from Phil, even though he has every right to.

As he sips his cooling coffee, he wonders if it’s a sort of fairness thing: he’s shared so much of himself with Dan, and his inner child wants things to be _fair_ , to be _even_. Although a bigger part of him just wants to _know_ Dan, all the bits and pieces and the things that make him tick, the things he loves. 

Phil hopes he gets to be one of those things.

Dan doesn’t respond til Phil’s fallen asleep, but Phil wakes early and with a strange sense of urgency that he can only put up to some supernatural sense for all things _Dan_. 

**Dan: __**_i got u tix for tomorrow night, go to will call and give them your name. show starts at 8_

He sends an address, one Phil assumes is the theater - after a quick google, he deems it a _play_ kind of theater, which sends a shiver down his spine. He gets to see Dan perform _live_.

\---------

After some internal debating, Phil decides to postpone his show for the day - he reckons he could make it back for part of it if he rushes home, but he'd much rather allow himself to focus wholly on Dan.

He spends the better part of Friday bouncing on his toes, some disastrous swirl of anxiety and excitement flooding his veins and keeping him in constant motion. He takes another walk to the coffee shop, then down to the theater he’ll be going to later - just to get an idea for how long it’ll take him to arrive - before heading back to his flat for a shower.

Given Dan’s busy with final rehearsals or something, Phil does his best to take his time under the hot stream of water - he doesn’t think he’ll be able to manage to sit still for any extended period of time to watch a show or even play a video game. In spite of his best attempts, though, he ends up showered, hair dried, and clothes laid out on his bed with nearly two hours to spare. 

Which gives him plenty of time to overthink about absolutely everything.

He goes through six iterations of his outfit for the evening, finally settling back on the first one before picking through his nice shirts in his closet again - Dan said it wasn’t like _fancy_ fancy or anything, but Phil’s been to a handful of plays on West End before and he _always_ feels underdressed. This time, he’s got a proper suit jacket and tie.

He stares at his current choice of shirt for another two full minutes before he decides he’d better just put everything on or he’ll spend the rest of the time working himself up over whether it’s the right choice.

His phone buzzes just as he’s pulling his jacket, and he nearly trips over his own feet trying to get to it - except it’s just an alarm, not Dan. He may have set himself a few alarms, just on the off chance he somehow forgot about this or got so distracted he lost track of time. Phil rolls his eyes - as if he’d forget. He’s not sure even _Dan_ realizes how important this is to Phil.

Maybe it’s just him, but Phil’s heart swells in his chest just knowing that in less than an hour, he’ll get to see Dan up on stage doing something he loves. Phil wonders if he’ll get to see Dan after, if he’ll get to give him a proper hug and tell him how amazing he was - because he’ll surely be nothing less than amazing - and-

Oh. _Oh_. 

Phil rushes out the door and down the stairs, a wide smile on his face. Just as he bursts out onto the sidewalk, he pulls up his map to search for the nearest flower shop.


	16. i've been searching for the right words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you from every corner of my heart for all the love and support! it means more than i can put into words, but i hope you enjoy this final chapter <3

Phil thought Dan was incredible whilst reading out the lines of his own little story, but it pales in comparison to see Dan in his element, up on a stage in full costume and truly _performing_. He’s utterly mesmerizing.

The entire show seemed to fly by, and if Phil’s honest, he had a hard time focusing on the plot whenever Dan was on stage. Which was most of the time, actually - what he failed to tell Phil was that he had a leading role. Not that Phil’s _surprised_ , but he’s certainly impressed yet again.

Just as he’d sat in his seat - right in the middle, only a couple rows back - his phone had buzzed, and he’d pulled it out so quickly he’d almost dropped the bouquet of flowers. On such late notice, the shop had only had a few things to choose from, and he felt a bit strange about getting roses. That felt...romantic. Not that he didn’t want it to be a _bit_ romantic, but he’d decided that was more of a personal, intimate thing. 

So he’d shuffled around in his seat, holding the lilies high in one hand as he fished in his pocket.

 **Dan:** _come around to the stage door after the show i’ll meet u there_

Phil had sent a quick confirmation, along with the traditional ‘break a leg’, before spending the next few minutes trying to properly hide the flowers. He was close to the stage, and he wanted them to be a surprise.

\-----------

The moment he’d been able to escape the flood of people exiting the theater, he’d slipped to the side to stand at the door labeled ‘Stage’. Which he’s been at for nearly five minutes now, and surely that’s what Dan meant when he said ‘stage door’, right?

His hand is buried in his pocket when the handle turns, and Phil sucks in a breath, searching for the familiar warm brown eyes and fluffy curls.

“Phil?” Phil’s entire face lights up as Dan sticks his head out, and he’s glad he’s still got the flowers behind his back. He wants to present them _properly_ , and he doesn’t want the surprise ruined by Dan, well, surprising _him_. Dan smiles as he steps out, the door drifting shut behind him.

“You were amazing,” Phil gushes through a bright grin, mostly unable to contain himself. Really, he’d rather like to write bloody _poetry_ about how good Dan was, about how well he captured every line, about how everyone was fully engrossed in his performance. About how Phil had nearly sobbed at the very end, when Dan’s character died. But he figures it best to stick with the simple praise for now, especially given the way Dan’s cheeks have flushed a bright pink that coincidentally matches the lilies quite well. 

Before Dan can attempt a response - which he seems to be struggling with, his mouth opening and closing as he dips his head - Phil pulls the bouquet from behind his back and sticks it out toward Dan.

Now Dan’s eyes go wide, clearly taken completely off guard.

“For me?” It’s said so softly that Phil almost feels _bad_ \- does Dan think himself undeserving, for some reason? Phil just nods, at a loss for words, and Dan’s hand reaches up slowly to close around the stems. His fingers brush against Phil’s in a touch gentle enough to match Dan’s words.

Phil’s left entirely unsuspecting when Dan practically launches himself at Phil, wrapping his arms and the bouquet around Phil’s neck in a tight hug. Phil wonders if Dan will say anything to clarify whatever’s going on in his head, but Dan pulls away without a word. Wet tracks on Dan’s cheeks reflect the light, and Phil has half a mind to apologize even though he’s got no idea what for - Dan’s _upset_? Did Phil do something wrong? Were the lilies the wrong choice? Should he have not gotten flowers at all? Maybe Dan’s _allergic_ , oh god, Phil didn’t even-

A sharp laugh brings Phil out of his spiral of worries, and he finds Dan grinning as he shakes his head and wipes hard at the tears on his face.

“You absolute sap, I can’t- you got me fucking _flowers_.” He rolls his eyes as he says it, but his free hand finds Phil’s and drags him toward a side door that leads out onto the street.

“Are we- are we going somewhere?” Phil hadn’t really planned on anything after the show, and he’s still reeling a bit from Dan’s rollercoaster of emotions, so he’s not quite sure he understands what’s happening.

“We are, come on, it’s just down the road. Think you can manage?” His gaze flicks over to Phil, then, and his eyes travel the length of Phil’s body. Again, Phil’s left wondering if he made the wrong choice - he _knew_ he should’ve worn the other shirt, this one’s-

“That’s a good look, I like you in a suit.” Dan quirks a brow as he speaks, then huffs out a breath that might be laughter - Phil thinks it probably is, since Dan’s lip has curled up in a smirk and his dimple looks so deep Phil could lose a finger if he pokes it.

They walk in silence for a while, Phil still trying to catch up with whatever’s going on now. He’s got no idea what’s on Dan’s mind, but he seems focused and determined, making sharp turns down different streets in spite of his promise that this secret destination was only ‘down the road’. Briefly, the idea that Dan _is_ a secret agent flashes in Phil’s head again.

“Wait here,” Dan commands suddenly, whirling on the spot and fixing Phil with a stern gaze that, he’s reluctant to admit, _does_ freeze him in place. Dan disappears inside a brightly lit storefront, one that - upon closer inspection of the swirls of pastel-colored writing on the windows - Phil determines sells ice cream.

He’s tempted to go in, but Dan told him to wait, so he watches through the window as the employee greets him with a warm familiarity. Dan matches the bright smile he’s given, laughing as the guy says something. A twinge of jealousy sparks in Phil’s stomach, but not the typical kind - this man is easily forty years their senior. It’s more the kind of jealousy that stems from the desire to _know_ Dan, to know all the things about him. This is clearly a thing that he’s only sharing in part, for now.

Phil rolls around the concept of ‘for now’ in his head - he supposes it isn’t fair to demand all of Dan all at once, not even fair to demand all of him _ever_. By the time Dan’s pushing through the door, two cones held precariously in one hand and the bouquet in the other, Phil’s decided that he’s just thrilled about all the parts of his life Dan _wants_ to share.

Dan gestures at Phil to take a cone, and they both look the same so he just grabs the easier one. After a soft smile, Dan turns back the way they came and sets off. Phil follows. Of course he does, as if he’d rather go anywhere else.

“I always come here after opening night,” Dan says unprompted, and Phil hums around a lick of his ice cream - it’s something caramelly, and saccharine-sweet to the point it’s almost too much for _him_. “‘S a tradition, I guess.” 

Phil makes another noise of acknowledgment, hoping Dan will continue of his own accord, but they fall into silence. Although he’s not sure _exactly_ where they are, he’s fairly certain that Dan’s leading them in a distinctly _not-_ home direction.

“You have a bit longer?” Dan asks absently, staring ahead even though Phil’s pretty certain that question was for him.

“Of course,” Phil says. It’s a silly question for Dan to bother with, he thinks - as if he’s not got all the time in the world for Dan.

“Kay.” Again, they lapse into silence, Dan leading them on wherever it is he plans on going.

\--------

It takes another fifteen minutes, if Phil had to guess, for them to arrive at a park. Actually, it can hardly be called a park, mostly full of dead grass in little plant pots around the edges and a big fountain in the middle. It doesn’t seem to be running, though, and the water in the base looks entirely still. It might be close to frozen, Phil thinks.

Dan leads him around to one side of the fountain and sits on the edge, positioned so they’re staring down a gentle hill that offers a shallow view of the city.

“I come here after, usually,” Dan says, and Phil stares out over the tops of the buildings. 

“To look at the city?” Phil supposes it’s a nice enough view, if that’s something Dan likes. He’s also seen better, but that’s not something he’s about to say to Dan if this is important to him. Besides, it may be for more than just the view.

“To look at the stars.” Phil turns to find Dan laid out on his back on the cold stone at the edge of the fountain, his head a few inches from Phil’s leg and the bouquet sat on his chest. He holds the ice cream off to the side, over the water, and turns his head to take a lick.

Phil glances up, then. He’ll admit, he’s a little surprised at how _clear_ the stars are, how many of them he can see. A city like London, that’s pretty rare. He follows Dan’s lead and scoots himself over so he can lay and look up as well. The top of his head just brushes against Dan’s curls.

“Haven’t found anywhere else they’re so clear, not in the city.” Phil wonders, again, if Dan’s able to read minds, or maybe _sense_ things. He has an uncanny way of knowing what’s in Phil’s head.

Dan falls into silence, then, and Phil follows. The stars sparkle back, even behind the barest wisps of cloud that have made their way into the air. It’s peaceful, and Phil can see how this might be a nice contrast to the high-energy atmosphere of the theater.

“You got me _flowers_ ,” Dan blows out on a breath of laughter, after another few minutes or ages have passed. Phil finds he has trouble keeping track of time when he’s with Dan.

“Do you not like them?” Phil’s second-guessing himself again - what if Dan’s laughing cause he thinks it’s funny? What if his earlier tears were just the result of the stress of an opening night performance? What if-

“No, Phil, no,” he laughs again, “I love them.” 

Again, that silence, because Phil can’t think of anything to say. The words ‘I love _you_ ’ bubble to the tip of his tongue, but he ultimately decides to swallow them back. He wants tonight to be free and unburdened and _good_ , and he doesn’t want to stress Dan with the weight of those words. Not tonight, not when he’d been so overwhelmed by just the flowers.

“Can I ask you something?” Dan’s voice sounds soft, now, and Phil’s glad for the late evening. There’s no ambient noise blocking the words from reaching his ears.

“Of course.” He wants to tell Dan he can ask _anything_ , wants to tell Dan he’s allowed into every corner of Phil’s mind, wherever he wants to go. But he’s not sure he needs to say it. He feels like ‘of course’ will do just fine.

“How does it end?”

“How- what do you mean, how does _what_ end?” He has a feeling he knows what Dan’s asking, and he’s already revising his internal statement - Dan can have anything _except_ spoilers. That wouldn’t be fair.

“You know what I mean.”

Phil may have an idea for how the story goes, but even if he was willing to give it up, he’s yet to decide on _exactly_ how it’ll end. Dan may as well be asking how we can talk to aliens - he’s pretty sure they exist, but the specifics are beyond him at the moment.

But Dan’s waiting on an answer, and ‘I don’t know’ doesn’t feel like _enough_. And teasing Dan seems a bit out of place right now, like party poppers at a funeral. He’s not entirely sure why his brain has gone to such strange similes, but they feel accurate.

“I’m not sure yet,” he starts, and the stars wink back at him. He feels like this might be the right thing to say, like these are words he’s heard before, maybe, or words he’s thought or said or written or _something_. They feel like good words. 

“But it’ll be a happy ending, I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> updates every tuesday and friday!
> 
> thanks so much for reading, lovelies! if you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/tagged/black-butterflies-fic)


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